


A Study in Sherlock

by purple_mango



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - fandom
Genre: A Scandal In Belgravia, A Study in Pink, Angst, Awkward Kiss, BAMF Mrs. Hudson, Bart's Morgue, Carl Powers - Freeform, Cuddles, Depression, Donovan Is A Bitch, F/M, Fluff, Forehead Kisses, Had a weird dream about this chapter after I wrote it, He acts like he doesn't know, Henry is a whiny bitch, I also think he likes rough sex, I don't like the woman, I imagine Sherlock to be really strong, I like Moriarty, I was jealous writing this, I'm Sorry, Insert chapter, Is that a British Army Browning L9A1, It was a gas leak apparently, Jealousy, John being confused about Sherlock kissing reader, Lestrade may or may not feel inferior to reader, Moriarty is a creepy dude, Moriarty yay, Mycroft likes to text reader, Or are you just pleased to see me, Oral Sex, Pregnancy, Reader Insert, Reader knows Moriarty, Sad Moriarty is dead, Sex before the wedding, Sherlock is oblivious, Smut, The Blind Banker, The Empty Hearse, The Great Game, The Hounds of Baskerville, The Reichenback Fall, The Sign of Three, This is so angsty, Wedding Talk, Who cares if the earth goes around the sun, but obviously he does, duh - Freeform, hurt maybe, if i'm honest, long train rides, mary morstan - Freeform, murder mysteries yay, reader is a badass, she was married to a drug lord, sherlock is a cutie, so the reader is tired and hungry, sorry - Freeform, tired and hungry when I wrote this, why would you cross her
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-28
Updated: 2018-01-05
Packaged: 2018-09-02 18:33:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 65,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8678776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/purple_mango/pseuds/purple_mango
Summary: This is basically just a reader insert in which the reader is American and lives with Sherlock while working for Scotland Yard (kinda) and Mycroft





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> First time writing a Sherlock fic.... I will make it better I promise.

“You know Mycroft, I wouldn’t mind revisiting our conversation from a few months back” you stated, sitting across from him while reading over a file.

He looked up at you from over his tea cup with an interested smirk on his face, “And which conversation would that be?”

You shifted the papers in front of you before putting them in no particular order and banging them on the table to straighten the pile.

Slipping them into the manila folder, you smiled while saying, “Oh you know, the one where you offered me buckets of money to spy on your adorable little brother.”

He smirked while leaning forward as if to tell you a secret, “Sorry Y/N, but that offer is going to someone else in about, oh- two hours.”

You were slightly taken aback by this, “What? Who are you talking about? I’m the closest one to Sherlock, I mean, we live together.”

You gave him a suspicious look as you watched his face morph in amusement, “Mycroft, what aren’t you telling me?”

“As much as I love our little meetings, I believe it is time for me to go. Have those files read and marked before night’s end and give me a call when you’ve finished. Good evening, Y/N.”

He stood and picked up his umbrella as he rushed out of the room.

“Mycroft wait!”

It was no use though; he was gone before you finished. You sat there momentarily stunned, too confused to move. Something was up, but you couldn’t quite put your finger on it.

You took a deep breath looking at your things, _This isn’t worth it, I mean, why do I have to look into this stupid case. Lestrade should be all over this. It’s just a couple of apparent suicides, not something the government should be worried about_.

You put the file into your bag before making your way out of the room the same way Mycroft had moments before.

You stepped out onto the streets noting it had gotten dark at some point during your meeting with Mycroft.

It couldn’t have been too late though, but you checked the time nonetheless remembering that you need to stop and pick up some food for the next few days. You knew if you didn’t go now you wouldn’t want to later, and Sherlock sure as hell wasn’t gonna get it.

Making your way into the grocery store, you made a mental note of all the things you needed. You grabbed a basket and made your way through the isles grabbing things from milk and eggs to some meat and vegetables.

Before you left though, you called the local Chinese food place and placed an order for a bunch of different things, deciding to splurge a little because you had just gotten an advance and you knew that whatever wasn’t eaten could be saved as left overs.

You eventually made your way back to the apartment, juggling all of the grocery and takeout bags. When you finally got the door open, Mrs. Hudson saw you struggling and took some of the bags from your hands and helped you carry them up the stairs.

You placed all of the bags on the table then peeked out into the living room, seeing Sherlock laying on the couch with his eyes closed.

For some reason you didn’t expect to see him like that; you figured that Lestrade would have gotten to him about the “suicides” by then, so you half expected to see Sherlock with his fingers steepled, pressed into his chin. Instead, he appeared to be meditating and his face was visibly relaxed.

You turned back to Mrs. Hudson who was moving around you in an attempt to help put the groceries away, “Oh, you don’t have to do that Mrs. Hudson, I got it.”

“Don’t worry dear, I don’t mind. I know it must’ve been a long day for you.”

You smiled at her, “Actually, it wasn’t as long as you’d think. But would you like to join us for dinner?”

She turned to put the milk in the fridge and let out a startled cry, you ran over to her thinking she had gotten hurt, only to see what she saw.

There was an arm in the fridge. “Sherlock what the hell did I tell you about keeping god damn body parts where we keep our food?!”

He didn’t answer you and you let out an exasperated sigh in response.

“Sometimes, I don’t know how I put up with this crap.” Mrs. Hudson laughed from beside you and it forced you to crack a smile.

“Anyway Mrs. Hudson, will you be joining us?”

“No thank you, I’ve already eaten and I think we all deserve some time alone tonight.”

“Alright well, thanks for helping me with all the bags, I know I wouldn’t have gotten help otherwise.”

You said that last part rather loud in an effort to make it clear to Sherlock you were talking about him. You turned to face him to see if you got a reaction out of him, but his face was still as stony and placid as before.

“Night dear,” Mrs. Hudson said as she placed a hand on your shoulder before exiting.

You left the food in the bags on the table while you went down the hall to change out of your work clothes.

You had grabbed the first articles of clothing you’d seen, sweatpants and an oversized long sleeve shirt. Throwing them on, you left your makeup on and made your way back out to the living room.

Sherlock hadn’t moved, as far as you could tell, and you figured that he wouldn’t. So you went back into the kitchen to grab a few of the many takeout boxes before heading back out and making a point to settle into Sherlock’s chair.

You were halfway through your box of lo mein when you heard a door open and close downstairs. Sherlock opened his eyes then, letting out a long sigh.

A man entered the room then and addressed Sherlock before you had gotten the chance, “What are you doing?” the sandy haired man asked.

You were obviously confused and had a lot of questions, like, for one, who was this guy and why was he here?

“Nicotine patch. Helps me think. Impossible to sustain a smoking habit in London these days. Bad news for brain work,” Sherlock showed the man his left arm which had three patches in a triangle.

You watched the scene play out in front of you, now interested to see how long it would take for your presence to be noticed.

The blonde man answered Sherlock without skipping a beat, “It’s good news for breathing,” and Sherlock let out an annoyed groan in response, “Breathing! Breathing’s boring.”

“Is that three patches?”

“It’s a three-patch problem.”

Sherlock went back to the position he was in before he was interrupted, with his eyes closed and his hands steepled under his chin.

The other man, who had his back to you, looked out the window then, “Well, you asked me to come, I’m assuming it’s important.”

He slowly turned around, as though he was unsure he had seen anything out the corner of his eye, then jumped when he saw you.

“Hi,” you smiled at the man, waving slightly, “I’m Y/N.”

The man turned back to Sherlock then back to you, obviously confused, “I- I’m John… are you a friend of Sherlock’s?”

Your smile grew wider, “friend, colleague, roommate- sorry, flatmate, whatever label you’ve got that’s me.”

“So, you live here too?”

“Mhm, I’m guessing you moved in then?”

He slowly relaxed his face as he put the puzzle pieces together in his head, “Yeah, you know though, Sherlock never mentioned you or the fact that you lived here.”

“I’m not surprised, sometimes he gets so distracted he forgets significant details. But hey, where are you going to sleep then?”

The confused look was back on John’s face as he pointed at the ceiling, “upstairs, Mrs. Hudson said the room upstairs was free.”

It was your turn to be confused then, “Room upst- are you kidding me? I didn’t know there was a room upstairs!”

You chucked the pillow from your lap across the room hitting Sherlock square in the face; seconds later the pillow hit the ground.

He didn’t react at all, but you knew he was aware of everything that was happening.

“Son of a bitch told me there was only one room and told me we had to share” you grumbled.

John looked amused as he listened to you, “How could you not have known?”

“Well, I’m not here that much, I travel sometimes, but when I am here, I sleep on the couch, which, is where the asshole is currently laying. Oh, and as a side note, you’re one of the first ones who has yet to comment on me being American, I don’t know whether to be flattered or offended.”

You threw a warm smile his way, trying to make light of your sarcasm, before taking another bite of your food, which seemingly ended the current conversation with John. He smiled at you before turning back to Sherlock.

John repeated his words to him from before he got distracted with you, “You asked me to come, I’m assuming it’s important.”

Sherlock’s eyes shot open and he inhaled sharply, “Oh. Yeah, of course. Can I borrow your phone?”

You had to suppress a laugh, if he was asking what you thought he was, John was gonna get pissed any second now.

“My phone?”

“Don’t wanna use mine. Always a chance that my number will be recognized, it’s on the website.”

“Mrs. Hudson’s got a phone.”

John looked towards the door, and you waited for him to remember that it was more than likely you had a phone too.

“Yeah, she’s downstairs. I tried shouting but she didn’t hear.”

Realization crossed John’s face and he looked over his shoulder at you, who now had your phone in your hand.

“Y/N’s right there, why couldn’t you use hers?”

You went to answer, but Sherlock beat you to it, “She just recently got back, and I wasn’t entirely sure that she would be coming back tonight. As she told you moments ago, she’s not always here. I needed a sure thing, which is where you came in.”

John argued back, “I was on the other side of London,” but Sherlock was quick as ever to answer, “There was no hurry.”

John sighed before reluctantly offering Sherlock his phone. Once it was in his hand, you offered John some dinner, listing all of the things you picked up and telling him to help himself.

He made his way to the kitchen to take a look at his options while asking, “So what’s this about, the case?”

Sherlock whispered, “Her case…”

For some reason, you thought that he was talking about you, at the moment, that was the only thing that made sense to you.

It was obvious Sherlock would have known that you were working on something, so it was only logical to think that he meant you.

Simultaneously, you and John asked, “Her case?” though your tone was slightly more skeptical.

Sherlock hadn’t reacted, he just continued on, “Her suitcase, yes, obviously. The murderer took her suitcase, first big mistake.”

It was then images from the file you were looking over earlier in the evening with Mycroft came flooding back.

 _So he is working on this case, but how does he know about the suitcase? It was missing from the crime scene_.

You continued to listen to the conversation between John and Sherlock, taking in any new information.

“It’s no use, there’s no other way, we’ll have to risk it. On my desk there’s a number. I want you to send a text.”

Sherlock held the phone out for John to take, but he simply stared at it. John had an annoyed smile on his face, you knew where this was going.

“You’ve brought me here to send a text.”

You weren’t sure if Sherlock just couldn’t tell when someone was annoyed with him, or if he was just able to ignore it, either way, you knew from your own experiences with Sherlock that his responses only made things worse.

“Text, yes. The number on my desk.”

John moved forward several moments later to take the phone from Sherlock, but you jumped up and beat him to it.

Neither of the men argued with you, so you made your way over to Sherlock’s desk, scanning for anything that would look familiar to you with regards to the case.

You saw John out the corner of your eye move over to the window and peak out, you saw Sherlock had noticed too, but you chose to hold your tongue.

“What’s wrong?”

 _Wow_ , you thought, Sherlock rarely even pretends to care about other people, _this is new_.

John straightened his back, still looking out the window, “Just met a friend of yours.”

You turned your head curiously, wanting to see Sherlock’s reaction.

His brow was furrowed and he looked appalled, “A friend?”

John corrected himself then, “An enemy.”

You saw Sherlock’s face relax and morph into understanding, “Oh. Which one?”

You had a list of names running through your head at this point, interested to find out who John had met.

“Well, your archenemy, according to him. Do people have archenemies?”

You were turned now, completely facing Sherlock. You seemed to have realized who it was at the same time he did because he was staring at you as he spoke to John, “Did he offer you money to spy on me?”

“Yes.”

“Did you take it?”

“No.”

“Pity, we could have split the fee. Think it through next time.”

Sherlock kept his eyes locked on yours as John asked, “Who is he?”

“The most dangerous man you’ve ever met, and not my problem right now. On my desk, the number!”

John moved over to you and you handed him his phone back so you could text Mycroft.

You made your way back over to Sherlock's chair and plopped down. You vaguely heard what Sherlock was telling John to text the random number, but you were too busy composing your own message,

_So this John guy, is he the one you were going to replace me with? I hear he said no. And to think you were so confident he would take the money._

_Your handsome baby brother took on the case. I think he’s on to something. See? I’m useful. I’ll take my money now :)_

You turned your attention back to John, who was clarifying the address that Sherlock had told him to send in the text.

Mycroft answered then,

_Oh sweet girl, you must be blind to have an attraction to him, you know how it’ll go. As for the payment, you had your chance, I do believe you chose a side. But, we may be able to make an arrangement where I can see to it that a portion of your rent is covered each month._

_Keep an eye on him, Y/N._

_Mycroft Holmes_

Suddenly, Sherlock plopped himself down in his chair beside you, completely unfazed by the fact he almost sat directly on you.

You went to move over the best you could with one hand on Sherlock's back, the other on his leg, in an effort to push him to move over too. You stopped when you noticed what he brought over with him. You looked at what was in his hands curiously, it was a small, pink suitcase.

John noticed too and he breathed out, “That’s the pink lady’s case, that’s Jennifer Wilson’s case."

“Yes, obviously.” There was a long pause and you knew what John must have been thinking. You shook your head at him as Sherlock spoke, “Oh, perhaps I should mention, I didn’t kill her.”

“I never said you did.”

“Why not? Given that text I just had you send and the fact I have her case it’s a perfectly logical assumption.”

“Do people usually assume you’re the murderer?”

“Now and then, yes.”

Sherlock jumped up in the chair so that he was sitting on the back of it, you swatted his leg, “Ow man, what the hell? First you sit on me now you’re jumping on me? What’d I ever do to you?”

Sherlock looked down at you smirking, “Well, for starters, you're in my chair... And you didn’t take the money either, Y/N.”

“Yeah, but I have a job. I’m able to support us, I didn’t exactly think that betraying you for money was absolutely essential at the time. But don’t worry. I’ve been begging Myk to reconsider his offer, seeing as John here refused too.”

John took in the scene before him, confused about what the two of you we're talking about while silently wondering if the two of you were a couple or what, “Okay…” He smiled awkwardly, “How did you get this?”

“By looking,” Sherlock stated as though it were obvious.

John wasn’t letting it go, “where?”

“The killer must have driven her to Lauriston Gardens. He could only keep her case by accident if it was in the car. Nobody could be seen with this case without drawing attention to themselves, particularly a man, which is statistically more likely. So obviously he’d feel compelled to get rid of it the moment he noticed he still had it, wouldn’t have taken him more than five minutes to realize his mistake. I checked every backstreet wide enough for a car five minutes from Lauriston Gardens, and anywhere you could dispose of a bulky object without being observed. Took me less than an hour to find the right skip.”

You were back to lazily grazing your takeout, feeling a little out of place the only one eating, but you were starving. You wished Sherlock would stop showing off so that John could eat too, but at the moment he was too engulfed in what Sherlock was saying to think about anything else.

“Pink. You got all that because you realized the case would be pink?”

“Well it had to be pink, obviously.”

“Why didn’t I think of that?”

“Because you’re an idiot." John's face flashed hurt and Sherlock took notice, "No, no, no, don’t look like that; practically everyone is. Now look, do you see what’s missing?”

“From the case? How could I?”

You intervened then, “Yeah, I don’t see it either, what’s missing?”

Sherlock gave you a pointed look before continuing, “Her phone. Where’s her mobile phone? There was no phone on the body, there’s no phone in the case. We know she had one, that’s her number there, you just texted it.”

“Maybe she left it at home.”

Sherlock plopped back down into the seat, “She has a string of lovers and she’s careful about it. She never leaves her phone at home.”

Sherlock was practically sitting on you again, he was leaning forward a bit and was spread out. So, you grabbed your food and made your way back into the kitchen to put it in the fridge, along with the rest of the boxes that were still on the table.

As you were walking away though you asked, “So why’d you have John send that text then?”

“Well, the question is where is her phone now?”

John piped up, “She could have lost it.”

“Yes, or?”

You walked back over and took a seat beside Sherlock again, he gave you a look that said _you were complaining not five seconds ago_ but you ignored him.

“So, the murderer… You think the murderer has the phone?”

Sherlock didn’t sound entirely sure of himself when he answered, or maybe it was just because he was trying to guide the information out of you and John, “Maybe she left it when she left her case. Maybe he took it from her for some reason. Either way, the balance of probability is the murderer has her phone.”

“Sorry, what are we doing? Did I just text a murderer? What good will that do?”

You were going to answer then, to tell John that by sending the text, it would prove whether or not the killer did in fact have the phone. But, before you could get the words out, John’s phone started to ring.

“A few hours after his last victim, and now he receives a text that can only be from her. If somebody had just found that phone they’d ignore a text like that, but the murderer… would panic.”

Sherlock startled you by slamming the suitcase shut and jumping out of the chair, he spun around grabbing his coat, leaving you and John confused as to what the plan was.

“Have you talked to the police?”

“Four people are dead, there isn’t time to talk to the police.”

“So why are you talking to us?”

“Mrs. Hudson took my skull.”

John's words were laced with sarcasm and amusement, “So I’m the fill in for your skull?”

“Relax, you’re doing fine. Well?”

“Well, what?” you and John said in unison.

“Well, you could just sit there and watch telly.”

Sherlock gave a look of pure disgust, and once again you had to cough to hide your laugh.

“What, you want me to come with you?” John sounded honored yet still slightly confused, it was cute.

“I like company when I go out, and I think better when I talk aloud. The skull just attracts attention, so… Problem?”

John smiled at Sherlock’s remark, you found it a little strange though ‘cause it’s been a while since Sherlock cracked a joke. You were smiling too, but when John mentioned Donovan your smile dropped.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, “What about her?”

“She said you get off on this, you enjoy it.“

“And I said “dangerous,” and here you are.” Sherlock left the room then, obviously intending for the two of you to follow.

You threw a look at John before darting down the hall to find some jeans or leggings and settled on the first one you touched, which happened to be the latter.

You were running down the hall shedding your sweatpants and jumping into your leggings as you slipped on a pair of sneakers and your coat.

John was watching with an amused smirk on his face, but you tore past him down the stairs yelling behind you, “I don’t know why you’re laughing! You should be running too! He’ll leave us if we aren’t out there when the cab pulls up!”

You heard his muttered, “Damn it!” followed by the door slamming and him hurrying down the stairs behind you after Sherlock.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is the rest of episode one

Sherlock was already halfway across the street by the time you made it down the steps, so you decided to wait for John to catch up before crossing yourself.

“Sherlock! Where the hell are we going? Are we walking there?” you turned to John, “We ran for nothing, apparently.”

You and John jogged to Sherlock’s side, you were aware of John’s cane and his awkward use of it. You wondered if he really needed it or if it was all in his head. Something told you Sherlock would have already deduced this, maybe even already confronted John about it. At some point you would want to do the same.

“Y/N, you’re smarter than this, do you have to ask?” You gave Sherlock a pointed look and he sighed, adjusting his gloves, “The address I told John earlier, the one he sent in the text to our murderer.”

You thought for a second, trying to remember, but you realized that you had been texting Mycroft when all of that was happening.

When you hadn’t answered him, Sherlock continued, “Northumberland St. It’s a five minute walk from here.”

“Oh” you dragged out, it made sense to you. John however, didn’t think so.

“You think he’s stupid enough to go there?”

“No, I think he’s brilliant enough. I love the brilliant ones. They’re all so desperate to get caught."

Still confused, John asked, “why?”

“Appreciation! Applause! At long last the spotlight. That’s the frailty of genius, John, it needs an audience.”

“Yeah” was all John said.

Under your breath you muttered, “yeah you’re the prime example of that.”

Sherlock ignored you, looking over you to his right before spinning around to get a full view of the street.

“This is his hunting ground. Right here in the heart of the city. Now that we know his victims were abducted, that changes everything. Because all of his victims disappeared from busy streets, crowded places, but nobody saw them go. Think! Who do we trust, even though we don’t know them? Who passes unnoticed wherever they go? Who hunts in the middle of a crowd?”

John was looking around now, seemingly in an attempt to get any clues. Sherlock had his hands pressed together again covering his mouth.

It fascinated you how quickly his brain worked, he ran through all of that in a matter of seconds and you thought he was close to figuring all of this out.

You didn’t want to interrupt his thinking since he already made a comment about you being smarter than normal and you didn’t want to deal with his criticism if you said something he deemed as stupid.

John didn’t seem to mind though, but you figured he hasn’t known Sherlock long enough to know when to keep his mouth shut, “Don’t know. Who?”

You expected a smartass comment to spew from Sherlock’s mouth, but what he said surprised you, “Haven’t the faintest. Hungry?”

Sherlock veered right and crossed the street.

“Are we really going to a restaurant? You do realize that I stopped and got us dinner before I got home not thirty minutes ago.”

Sherlock looked at you over his shoulder, “Yes, but we didn’t get to eat, did we Y/N?”

You narrowed your eyes at him, “I did, not my fault you were distracting John… and it’s not like you eat during a case anyway soooo.”

He hummed in response before opening the door to the restaurant where Billy showed the three of you to Sherlock’s specially reserved table by the window in the front of the place.

“Thank you, Billy.”

John and Sherlock made their way to sit down, but you remained where you were, taking in the scene in front of you. You figured Sherlock had brought you here as a part of one of his crazy stake out missions and you didn’t know how long it was going to take, so you announced you would be back shortly, you were just going to get a beer.

While you were gone, Sherlock explained his idea to John, “22 Northumberland St. Keep your eyes on it.”

“He’s not just going to ring the doorbell, now is he? He’d need to be mad.”

“He has killed four people.”

“Okay.”

Their conversation was interrupted when Angelo walked over to Sherlock reaching to shake his hand, “Sherlock, anything on the menu, whatever you want, free. On the house, for you and for your date.”

Sherlock addressed John, “Do you want to eat?”

John ignored Sherlock, addressing Angelo, “I’m not his date. Plus, we aren’t alone.”

Ignoring his comment, Angelo said, “This man got me off a murder charge” he gestured towards Sherlock who responded, “This is Angelo, three years ago I successfully proved to Lestrade that at the time of a particularly vicious triple murder, that Angelo was in a completely different part of town, housebreaking.”

“He cleared my name.”

“I cleared it a bit. Anything happening opposite?”

“Nothing. But weren’t for this man, I’d have gone to prison.”

“You did go to prison.”

“I’ll get a candle for the table, it’s more romantic.”

John yelled after Angelo repeating for the second time in under a minute, “I’m not his date!”

Unfazed by the conversation, Sherlock told John that he should eat because he wasn’t sure how long they’d be there. Angelo placed a candle on the table then turned around, bumping into you.

“Ah, Y/N! Even more beautiful than the last time I saw you. How are you, darlin’?”

You hugged the large man, mindful of your beer, before pulling back and giving him a warm smile.

“Angelo! I’m doing great, how’ve you been? Keeping out of trouble I hope.”

“Are you here with Sherlock then?”

“Yeah, you know how it is, he gets an idea in his head and you have no choice but to go along with it.”

He chuckled before leaning into you, “And here I thought the two of them were alone and it was a date,” He pointed over his shoulder at the two men and you barked out a laugh.

“You know, I can see why you think that, but no, I can’t really get a read on the new guy, but something tells me he’s gonna be good for us.”

Angelo pulled you in for another hug before letting you return to the table. You took a seat next to John with your body facing him, trying to act like you hadn’t heard what they were talking about.

One thing kept floating in your thoughts though, the fact that John asked if you were Sherlock’s girlfriend. Of course, being Sherlock his response was something along the lines of girlfriends not being his area so naturally, John took that as him meaning he was into guys.

Part of you wondered how the conversation had gotten to that point in such a short amount of time, but you’d be able to worry about that later.

You thought when you had sat down that their conversation would have ended, but Sherlock, blunt as ever said, “John, uhm… I think you should know that I consider myself married to my work, and while I’m flattered I’m not really looking for any-”

John cleared his throat and you had almost spit out the beer you had just taken a sip of, “No, I’m…. not asking. No. I’m just saying, it’s all fine.”

He gestured between the three of you and Sherlock smiled at you before looking back to John, “Good. Thank you.”

John looked around awkwardly while you had turned your attention out the window onto the streets, “Hey that’s weird.”

John jumped at the opportunity to change the subject, “What?”

Sherlock went into one of his phases, “Look across the street, taxi. It’s stopped. Nobody getting in, and nobody getting out. Why a taxi?”

There was a pause as all of you watched, “Oh, that’s clever. Is it clever? Why is it clever?”

“That’s him.” John’s tone was a mix between questioning and affirming, almost as though he found it hard to believe that anyone could be dumb enough to respond to a setup.

“Don’t stare” Sherlock almost growled.

“You’re staring.”

You knew where that was going, you crossed your legs and grabbed your shoes, making sure the laces were tight and secure.

“We can’t both stare,” Sherlock didn’t take his eyes off the taxi as he grabbed his things and rushed out the door. You pushed off the bench and followed, peeking over your shoulder to make sure John was behind you.

Sherlock was stopped momentarily under the guise he was fixing his jacket before running out into the street and getting himself hit by a car. He was unfazed though as he continued running.

You and John followed after him, each lunging over the hood of the car, determined to catch up to Sherlock. In your mind, it was pointless chasing a cab, but it wasn’t the time or place to argue, so you just kept running.

“I’ve got the cab number!” John yelled as he came to a stop behind Sherlock.

“Good for you. Right turn, one way, roadwork, traffic lights, bus lane, pedestrian crossing, left turn only, traffic lights,” Sherlock muttered to himself as he held his temples.

John looked at you, confused, “He’s looking at a map in his head, get ready to run again.”

As you finished your sentence, Sherlock took off, pushing his way through a crowd to make a right turn. John, a gentleman you learned, yelled sorry.

The three of you ran though the building, which was fine, even up those stairs. But when you saw the twisted stairs of the fire escape Sherlock was currently running up, you stopped with your hands on your hips, “Oh hell no.”

John ran passed you, determined to keep up with Sherlock who noticed you had stopped, “Come on Y/N!”

You let out an exasperated sigh before darting up the stairs. When you reached the top you rolled your eyes, noting you’d be running back down a similar set of stairs and wondered what the point was, I mean, didn’t they just cancel each other out?

You took note of the cluttered rooftops, thanking your training for allowing you to jump high enough to make it over the obstacles. You weren’t expecting to be jumping across buildings tonight, but the adrenaline refused to give it a second thought.

When you landed you saw John was hesitating. Not hearing the footsteps behind him, Sherlock yelled, “come on, John! We’re losing him!”

Finally, the three of you had made it back down to the street and were running through alleyways trying to intercept the cab. You trusted Sherlock’s mind, but something seemed off. Normally you would have beaten it by now, but there were several times that you were just a few seconds off.

Eventually, Sherlock ran out into the middle of the street and you heard a thud and tires screeching. You and John caught up to see Sherlock at the passenger door yelling, “Police, open her up!”

You knew almost immediately this guy wasn’t right. Your thoughts wandered, trying to put the pieces together because to you, this wasn’t a coincidence. You focused again when Sherlock flashed a badge at the man, saying, “Yeah, everything alright?”

“Yeah.”

“Welcome to London.”

Walking away, John worked out aloud what had just happened and Sherlock confirmed it. You took the badge from Sherlock, opening it to have a look. You burst out laughing, you should have known.

John looked at Sherlock before taking it from your hands, “Hey, where did you get this? …. Detective Inspector Lestrade?”

You looked at Sherlock, still smiling, waiting for an answer. You knew he was aware that if he pissed you off you could get him into minor trouble for this, “Yeah, I pickpocket him when he’s annoying. You can keep that one, I’ve got plenty at the flat.”

John joined you in laughing, but Sherlock didn’t get it, “What?”

“Nothing, just…. “Welcome to London.”"

The three of you were laughing together, and you stretched your back, bending backwards slightly before swinging your arms from side to side. You pointed out the officer talking to the man in the cab, “Sorry to break this up boys, but I think it’s time for us to go.”

Sherlock smiled at you, “Ready to run?”

You smiled back and looked to John, who was still watching the officer. “Ready when you are.”

The run home wasn’t as bad, you took the main roads and about halfway through the run slowed to a jog and eventually turned into a walk. You pulled out your phone and sent a text to Angelo,

_Hey Angelo,_

_I’m sure Sherlock has already texted you, or will be, probably to bring the cane that John left when we had to rush out, but would you mind bringing me my beer too? Long day, thanks in advance._

When the three of you made it back to the apartment, the boys stopped at the base of the stairs to catch their breath, but you kept going. You were almost at the top of the stairs when there was a knock at the door.

You turned to see John talking with Angelo, who was handing him his cane and a six pack. 

“Thanks Angelo!” You yelled down after him, he smiled up at you and nodded.

Just then Mrs. Hudson came around the corner, she sounded like she was crying, “Sherlock, what have you done?”

“Mrs. Hudson?”

“Upstairs.”

You opened the door as the boys ran up behind you, only to see Lestrade sitting in Sherlock’s chair.

You froze and Sherlock pushed past you, “What are you doing?”

“Well, I knew you’d find the case, I’m not stupid.”

“You can’t just break into my flat.”

“And you can’t withhold evidence, and I didn’t break into your flat.”

“Well, what do you call this, then?” Sherlock opened his arms, gesturing all around.

You moved to the kitchen to see what everyone else was doing in there, while John remained watching the interaction between Sherlock and Lestrade.

“It’s a drugs bust.” You turned to look at Lestrade, you hadn’t been back in almost two weeks, you had no idea what drugs Sherlock could have gotten in that time and you hadn’t had a chance to look when you got back. _This can’t be good_ , you thought.

John spoke up then, “Seriously? This guy, a junkie? Have you met him?” _Oh, you have no idea._

“John,” Sherlock warned.

“I’m pretty sure you could search this flat all day, you wouldn’t find anything you could call recreational,” John was ignoring Sherlock, addressing Lestrade loud enough for everyone to hear.

Sherlock looked panicked but tried to remain calm, “John, you probably want to shut up now.”

“Yeah, but come on.”

Sherlock gave him a pointed look and you watched as John’s face morphed in disbelief as he searched Sherlock’s eyes, “no.”

“What?”

“You?”

“Shut up!” He turned back to Lestrade then, “I’m not your sniffer dog.”

“No, Anderson’s my sniffer dog,” Lestrade gestured past you and into the kitchen.

“What? I-” Anderson came into view and he glanced at you before looking back to Sherlock. He looked so smug as he waved to Sherlock that it pissed you off. “Anderson, what are you doing here on a drugs bust?”

You could hear from Sherlock’s tone that he was on the verge of having an outburst.

“Oh, I volunteered.”

You pushed past Anderson and went to see what Donovan was doing. She was rummaging through cabinets and drawers, no doubt purposefully making more of a mess than necessary.

Lestrade was speaking loud enough for you to hear him, “They all did. They’re not strictly speaking on the drug squad, but they’re very keen.”

Donovan made a disgusted sound and you turned to see her pulling a jar with eyeballs out of the microwave. You followed her back into the living room, noting how she stopped mere inches from Anderson before asking, “are these human eyes?”

Sherlock looked as though he was being violated, “Put those back!”

“They were in the microwave,” She said it as though that was going to change his answer.

“It’s an experiment.” _Oh Sherlock, as if that’s enough to justify having human remains in your_ _kitchen_.

Lestrade ignored the exchange which you were sort of grateful for, “Keep looking guys! Or, you could help us properly and I’ll stand them down.”

You were beside John now, not knowing what to say or do to make this stop. You quick texted Mycroft to explain what was happening, just in case.

Sherlock began pacing, “This is childish.”

“Well, I’m dealing with a child. Sherlock, this is our case. I’m letting you in, but you do not go off on your own. Clear?”

Sherlock stopped pacing, “Ah, what, so you set up a pretend drugs bust to bully me?”

“It stops being pretend if they find anything.”

“I am clean!”

Anderson thought it was appropriate to throw in his two cents, “Is your flat?”

You could see the annoyance clear as day on Sherlock’s face and you knew that with each exchange he was getting closer and closer to snapping.

Lestrade didn’t miss a beat as he tacked on to Anderson’s comment, “All of it?”

Sherlock began unbuttoning the sleeve of his dress shirt, just high enough to show one of the three patches, “I don’t even smoke.”

Now, you knew that wasn’t true, but you didn’t say anything. You watched as Lestrade mirrored Sherlock’s actions, “Neither do I. So let’s work together; We’ve found Rachel.”

“Who is she?” “Rachel?” You had questioned the name at the same time that Sherlock had asked about her, so you knew it was more than likely you wouldn’t get an answer.

You recognized the name, it had come up in the file you were reading with Mycroft earlier, you just couldn’t place it at the moment. Sherlock and Lestrade ignored you, John gave you a sympathetic smile.

“Jennifer Wilson’s only daughter.”

“Her daughter? Why would she write her daughter’s name? Why?”

Once again, Anderson, always eager to be a part of the conversation chipped in, “Never mind that, we found the case. According to someone the murderer has the case, and we found it in the hands of our favourite psychopath.”

The anger and annoyance was back as Sherlock turned to Anderson, “I’m not a psychopath, Anderson. I’m a high-functioning sociopath. Do your research.”

He turned back to Lestrade and you moved forward to put your hand on Sherlock’s lower back. It was the closest you’d be able to get to comfort and calm him down at the moment.

Sherlock ignored your presence, “You need to bring Rachel in, you need to question her. I need to question her.”

“She’s dead,” Lestrade stated simply.

“Excellent. How and when, why? Is there a connection? There has to be.” Sherlock’s excitement over this should have made you uneasy, but you knew it was just his way of expressing he was close to figuring it out.

“Well, I doubt it, since she’s been dead for fourteen years. Technically, she was never alive. Rachel was Jennifer Wilson’s stillborn daughter, fourteen years ago.” _That’s why that was familiar_.

Sherlock took a step back in disbelief, “No… that’s… that’s not right. How? Why would she do that? Why?”

Once again, Anderson commented, “Why would she think of her daughter in her last moments? Yup, sociopath, I’m seeing it now.”

That was the last straw for you, “Anderson! Would you shut the hell up? Your voice gets increasingly more annoying every time I hear it!”

Sherlock turned to face Anderson then, this time putting his hand on your back, “She didn’t think about her daughter. She scratched her name on the floor with her fingernails. She was dying. It took effort, it would have hurt.”

John finally spoke up as Sherlock began pacing again, “You said that the victims all took the poison themselves, that he makes them take it. Well, maybe he… I don’t know, talks to them. Maybe he used the death of her daughter somehow.”

Sherlock stopped beside you, “Yeah, but that was ages ago. Why would she still be upset?”

The room went silent and all eyes fell on Sherlock. Seeing the look in John’s eyes, Sherlock turned to you, “Not good?”

You shook your head no and John responded, “Bit not good, yeah.”

“Yeah but if you were dying, if you’d been murdered, in your very last few seconds, what would you say?”

John didn’t hesitate when answering, ““Please, god, let me live.””

His answer surprised you, almost as much as it surprised Sherlock. You weren’t religious and neither was Sherlock, it was slightly refreshing that John was.

“Oh, use your imagination!” Sherlock exclaimed. For a moment you felt bad that he thought that would change John’s answer.

“I don’t have to.”

Sherlock searched John’s face for a moment, it was like he was trying to understand. He gave up after no more than three seconds and said, “Yeah, but if you were clever, really clever. Jennifer Wilson running all those lovers, she was clever. She’s trying to tell us something.”

Mrs. Hudson interrupted then, “Isn’t the doorbell working? Your taxi’s here, Sherlock.”  
_Taxi_?

“I didn’t order a taxi. Go away.”

Mrs. Hudson remained in the doorway and looked to John for answers, “Oh, dear. They’re making such a mess. What are they looking for?”

Sherlock began pacing again and you moved around Lestrade to sit in Sherlock’s chair; From there you could see everything.

“It’s a drugs bust, Mrs. Hudson.”

She looked panicked, “But they’re just for my hip. They’re herbal soothers.”

You watch as Sherlock paced, his hands holding his temples. He rocked back and forth before yelling, “Shut up! Everybody, shut up! Don’t move, don’t speak, don’t breathe. I’m trying to think. Anderson, face the other way. You’re putting me off.” _And there’s the snap._

“What? My face is?” Everything about Anderson screamed disbelief and it was slightly satisfying.

“Everybody quiet and still. Anderson, turn your back.” _Good thing Lestrade’s on our side otherwise nothing would get done,_ you thought.

“Oh, for god’s sake!”

“Your back, now, please!” Lestrade yelled.

You smirked at Anderson, it was always fun putting him in his place.

“Come on, think. Quick!” Sherlock’s grip on his head tightened.

Mrs. Hudson remained in the doorway, “What about your taxi?”  
_Uh oh_.

“Mrs. Hudson!” She left as Sherlock came to a realization. “Oh. Ah! She was clever. Clever, yes! She’s cleverer than you lot and she’s dead. Do you see, do you get it? She didn’t lose her phone, she never lost it, she planted it on him. When she got out of the car, she knew that she was going to her death. She left the phone in order to lead us to her killer.”

“But how?” you could hear the confusion in Lestrade’s voice, despite not being able to see it.

“What? What do you mean “how?””

Lestrade shrugged his shoulders expressing he had no idea what Sherlock was talking about, and Sherlock yelled, “Rachel!” as if it were the most obvious thing.

He looked around the room taking in everyone’s confused stares, “Oh… Look at you lot, you’re all so vacant. Is it nice not being me? It must be so relaxing. Rachel is not a name.”

The range of emotions Sherlock experienced in the last thirty seconds impressed you, you learned not to let his actions get under your skin, settling for admiration.

John was visibly irritated, “Then what is it?”

“John, on the luggage, there’s a label. Email address.”

Realization dawned on you, “It’s her password.”

Lestrade turned to you, still obviously confused, as John read the email to Sherlock who was now sitting at his desk typing into the computer, “Er, jennie.pink@mephone.org.uk.”

“Oh, I’ve been too slow, she didn’t have a laptop which means she did her business on her phone. So it’s a smartphone, its email enabled. So there’s a website for her account, the username is her email address, and all together now, the password is? Y/N?”

“Rachel.”

Once again, Anderson’s annoying voice crept forward meeting your ears, “So we can read her emails. So what?”

Before you could yell at him to shut up again, Sherlock said, “Anderson, don’t think out loud. You lower the IQ of the whole street. We can do much more than just read her emails. It’s a smartphone, it’s got GPS. Which means, if you lose it, you can locate it online. She’s leading us directly to the man who killed her.”

Zoning out, you understood that Sherlock was in the process of locating the phone, and you were aware that Mrs. Hudson was back, no doubt yelling about the taxi. You heard yelling, but you couldn’t make out any words.

The pinging coming from the computer alerted to the location being found, and you were vaguely aware of the man coming up the stairs behind Mrs. Hudson.

You looked to Sherlock as you were putting the pieces together, noticing he was figuring it out too. You pulled out your phone to text Mycroft.

_It’s the taxi driver, he’s here. Sherlock’s going after him. What do I do?_

You watched as Sherlock descended down the stairs, every instinct telling you to go after him. You resisted the urge, instead moving to stand by the window to watch what was happening outside.

Your phone buzzed in your hand,

_Wait. My brother is smart. But if you intervene too soon you might get him killed._

_Mycroft Holmes_

You sighed, suddenly very afraid. You saw Sherlock look up at you and give you a small smile before leaning down next to the cab, no doubt talking to the driver.

“What is it, Y/N?” John asked, moving to your side. The two of you watched as Sherlock got into the cab and drove off.

“He just got in a cab,” John announced out loud, his phone to his ear. “It’s Sherlock, he just drove off in a cab.”

“I told you, he does that.” You turned around at the sound of Donovan’s voice, “He bloody left again. We’re wasting our time!”

John spoke then, addressing Lestrade, “I’m calling the phone, it’s ringing out.”

“And if it’s ringing, it’s not here.”

“I’ll try the search again.”

Donovan came back into the room, “Does it matter? Does any of it? Yeah he’s just a lunatic and he’ll always let you down. And you’re wasting your time. All our time.”

You snapped out of your daze and let out a sarcastic laugh. You looked at John who had the tablet in his hands trying to pinpoint the search, and made your way to stand in front of Donovan.

She looked you up and down, clearly annoyed, and you smiled. You acted like you were turning to walk away, but instead, you swung, punching her square in the mouth.

“Y/N!” Lestrade yelled before grabbing you.

You watched as Donovan stumbled back a few steps, her hand on her mouth.

“What the bloody hell was that for?” She yelled at you.

You shrugged out of Lestrade’s grasp, “I told you the last time I saw you that if you made anymore degrading comments about Sherlock that I would punch you. Clearly you forgot. Let this be a lesson though, I always keep my word.”

You walked over and stood by John, who was looking at you with a startled expression on his face. Donovan didn’t answer you and Lestrade said nothing more on the matter.

“Okay, everybody, done here.”

Donovan gave you a nasty look before turning around to clean up so they could all leave.

“Why did he do that; why did he have to leave?” Lestrade asked no one in particular.

“You know him better than I do.” You smiled at John’s innocence while examining the bruises forming on your knuckles.

“I’ve known him for five years, and no, I don’t.”

“So why do you put up with him?”

Lestrade finished putting his jacket on while thinking of a response, “Because I’m desperate, that’s why… And because Sherlock Holmes is a great man, and I think one day, if we’re very, very lucky, he might even be a good one.”

With that, all of the officers left, Lestrade shutting the door behind him. You didn’t say anything to John, you simply made your way into the kitchen in order to straighten up a bit. It wasn’t too terrible. It would just take a few minutes.

John watched you and decided to help with the living room. As he was picking up papers off the floor he asked, “So why did you punch Donovan, then?”

You smiled, “Weren’t you listening? I warned her.”

John didn’t answer you, he just waited for you to explain.

You sighed, “Because, I’m sick of the way she treats him. She acts like she is so much better than everyone, especially Sherlock. And, she acts like she knows him, that she understands him. She doesn’t know anything and she’s just a horrible person. I hate how she calls him a freak every chance she gets.”

John was watching you, there was something peaceful about what you had said, he just couldn’t put his finger on it.

“Have you known him long then?”

You came into the room, satisfied with what little you had done.

“Sherlock? Oh, it’s been a little over two years… And if you’re wondering why they didn’t arrest me for ‘assaulting a police officer,’ it’s because I’m higher up on the totem pole than they are. Besides, even if they did arrest me, I’d be out in under an hour. You know, connections and all.”

Before John could answer you (he was going to ask what your job was), the tablet dinged signaling that it located the phone.

You rushed over, memorizing the cross streets before grabbing your coat and running out the door, “Coming, John?”

He grabbed the tablet before following you out. You called a cab and slid in, John right behind you. You saw that he had brought the tablet and part of you was grateful. You had already told the cab driver you were headed to Roland-Kerr Further Education College, but with the tablet John was able to see the quickest route.

During the ride, John called Lestrade and told him the address, careful to say you were on your way, not that you were just about there already. Once the cab pulled up out front, you noted the other cab that was parked with no one inside. You quick paid your driver and jumped out, John following.

“John, look. It’s the same cab from earlier, the one we chased.” John nodded before looking at the buildings.

The two of you ran inside together, but you took off in the opposite direction, “We’ll find him faster if we split up! But we need to hurry! Be careful John!” you yelled over your shoulder.

You ran up and down the halls checking every classroom, even the bathrooms. By the time you hit the fourth floor you were at a loss, you hadn’t found Sherlock yet and you knew time was running out.

You heard John yelling Sherlock’s name from down the hall and you took off running in that direction. You came into the room just as John fired his gun. You stood there, momentarily stunned.

“John,” you breathed out.

He turned to look at you before dropping to the ground. You saw Sherlock in the room directly across in the other building. He was in the process of turning to see where the gunshot had come from when you dropped to the ground just as John had done, knowing it was best if Sherlock didn’t see either of you.

You crawled over to John, “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Can he see us?”

You slowly pressed up off the floor to see what Sherlock was doing. You saw his back was turned and he was looking down, probably examining the body.

“No, his back is to us.”

“Right, okay. We should go.” You helped John up and the two of you rushed out of the room. You heard the sirens as you exited the building.

When Lestrade and his crew pulled up, he ran over to you while others went inside.

“What happened?”

John was going to respond but you stepped forward, “We just got here. We heard a gunshot. Get your ass in there and make sure Sherlock’s okay!”

Minutes later, Sherlock was sitting in the back of an ambulance with the orange shock blanket around his shoulders. You were standing with John behind the crime scene tape, leaning against Lestrade’s car.

You could barely hear the conversation between Sherlock and Lestrade, and you held your breath waiting for Sherlock to figure out who the shooter was.

You looked at John was looking around as though he was trying to figure out what was going on, like an innocent bystander. _Good actor_ , you thought.

“You know John, it’s only going to be a few seconds before he figures it out.”

He looked at you and you nodded your head in the direction of Sherlock, “look, he’s figuring it out now.”

“...You’re looking for a man probably with a history of military service, and nerves of steel…” Sherlock was now looking in your direction, more specifically, at John.

“That was actually a lot quicker than I thought it was going to be, if I’m being honest," you said to John, getting his attention. 

John noticed both Sherlock and Lestrade looking at him so he began looking around again.

After a brief argument, Sherlock made his way over to the two of you, throwing the blanket into the open window of the police car he walked past.

“Erm, Sergeant Donovan has just been explaining everything to us. The two pills… Dreadful business, isn’t it? Dreadful.”

John looked to you for help and you added, “Oh yeah, terrible. Making someone choose as though they had a choice whether or not they were going to die. That’s like dangling a false hope.”

Sherlock smiled at the two of you, obviously amused with your lies, he addressed John, “Good shot.”

“Yes. Yes, must have been. Through that window.”

“Well, you’d know. Need to get the powder burns out of your fingers, I don’t suppose you’d serve time for this, but let’s avoid the court case.”

John cleared his throat and Sherlock asked if he was alright.

 _There it is again_ , Sherlock showing care for someone other than himself.

“Yes, I’m alright.”

“Well, you have just killed a man.”

“Yes… That’s true, isn’t it? But he wasn’t a very nice man.” John looked to you for help again, and you just smiled, pushing off the car and wrapping your arm around Sherlock’s.

“Nope, he wasn’t nice at all, so I personally, think this was justified.” You smiled at John and Sherlock looked down at you with an intrigued smile.

John continued, maybe to make himself feel better about the situation, “Frankly a bloody awful cabbie.”

Sherlock chuckled and the sound made your stomach swim, “That’s true, he was a bad cabbie. You should have seen the route he took us to get here.”

The three of you started laughing, but John being the logical one kept his head down whispering, “Stop it! We can’t giggle, it’s a crime scene. Stop it.”

“You’re the one who shot him, not me” Sherlock remarked.

John laughed some more and looked around, “Keep your voice down.”

Sherlock spun around to look behind him, pulling you with him, “Sorry, it’s just nerves I think, sorry.”

What John said next left you feeling like a weight had fallen on your chest, “You were gonna take that damn pill weren’t you?”

Of course, Sherlock denied it, but you knew he probably would have. You didn’t see what John saw through that window, but you would bet it was Sherlock, about to throw his life away all to prove how good he is.

John continued, “That’s how you get your kicks, isn’t it? You risk your life to prove you’re clever.”

“Why would I do that?”

“Because you’re an idiot.” You and John said in unison.

Sherlock smiled before changing the subject, “Dinner?”

“Starving.”

“End of Baker Street there’s a good Chinese. Stays open till two. You can always tell a good Chinese by the bottom third of the door handle.”

You pulled Sherlock so that the three of you were in a line, with you in the middle, “You know, that’s where I got dinner from earlier… You know, what I told you both to eat before all of this even happened?”

Sherlock looked down at you, “Oh. Really?”

You gave him a pointed look, “Yeah, but knowing you, you probably want it fresh since it’ll be your first meal in days.”

John interjected then, “Sherlock. That’s him, that’s the man I was talking to you about.”

You looked in the direction John was looking and saw Mycroft and Anthea stepping out of a car.

“I know exactly who that is.”

Mycroft stepped up to the three of you, but stood directly in front of Sherlock. You figured this was part of their sibling rivalry.

“So… Another case cracked. How very public-spirited. Though that’s never really your motivation, is it?”

“What are you doing here?”

“As ever, I’m concerned about you.”

“Yes, I’ve been hearing about your “concern.””

Both men looked at John and part of you was glad Mycroft hadn’t looked at you. You weren’t ready for Sherlock to know you cared so much that you go to his brother for help.

“Always so aggressive. Did it never occur to you that you and I belong on the same side?”

“Oddly enough, no.” _And that’s why_.

“We have more in common than you’d like to believe,” Mycroft glanced at you before turning back to Sherlock and continuing, “This petty feud between us is simply childish. People will suffer. And you know how it always upset Mummy.”

You snuck a glance at John, wanting to see his face as he realized the two men bickering in front of him are brothers.

“I upset her? Me? It wasn’t me that upset her, Mycroft.”

John stepped forward, “No. No, wait… Mummy? Who’s Mummy?”

Mycroft and Sherlock were staring each other down, so you answered for them with a smug smile on your face, “Their mother. That’s Mycroft, Sherlock’s older brother.”

They continued on as though you and John weren’t there.

“Putting on weight again?” Sherlock teased.

“Losing it, in fact.”

You lightly tugged on Sherlock’s arm, “Hey don’t be mean.”

John was still confused beside you, “He’s your brother?”

“Of course he’s my brother,” as though it was obvious just looking at them.

“So he’s not…”

“Not what?”

You audibly laughed at the look on Mycroft’s face when he realized that John thought he was the bad guy.

“I don’t know, criminal mastermind?” You laughed even harder at John's assumption.

Mycroft was giving you a disapproving look but Sherlock smiled before stating, “close enough.”

“For goodness sake. I occupy a minor position in the British government,” Mycroft interjected with a roll of his eyes.

“He is the British government, when he’s not too busy being the British secret service or the CIA on a freelance basis. Good evening, Mycroft. Try not to start a war before I get home, you know what it does for the traffic.”

Sherlock pulled out of your grip and walked away leaving you and John, who started to follow after Sherlock, “So when you say you’re concerned about him, you actually are concerned?”

“Yes, of course.”

“I mean, it actually is a childish feud?”

“He’s always been so resentful; you can imagine the Christmas dinners.”

“Yeah. No… god, no. I’d better, erm…” He turned to Anthea, obviously taking a shot for her attention, but failing. John walked away and you turned to Mycroft.

“You know Y/N, I already warned you. Feelings are a disadvantage; they hold you back. Besides, I am not entirely sure that my brother can love, are you willing to risk that?”

You watched him curiously, “Who said anything about love, Mycroft? Sherlock is alone and I know he’s better when I’m around. And with John, I’ve only seen them together for a few hours, but it’s obvious he’s helping Sherlock too. He deserves a chance. I’m willing to give him that.”

You turned to leave, following John and Sherlock to the main road to get a cab, you yelled over your shoulder, “Good night, Mycroft” before jogging to catch up to them.

As you approached you heard the name that sent shivers down your spine.

Moriarty.


	3. Chapter 3

It’s been months since John moved in and everything seemed to be going smoothly. It was nice, when you were there, to have company other than Sherlock; and it was a plus knowing that someone would be there to take care of Sherlock when you had to go away for business.

You had just gotten back from Paris not three days before, sent there to negotiate terms with a terrorist group. You found it boring as ever and you had insisted that someone else go, but Mycroft expressed that you were the best one for the job.

You weren’t sent alone, Mycroft allowed you to pick three agents to accompany you, but that didn’t make it any better. And the whole thing took longer than you would have liked, almost ten days.

Theoretically, you could have returned to London at any time during the trip, just hopping on the train and taking the two-and-a-half-hour ride, but you knew that had you done that, Mycroft would have said you were distracted and went on about your feelings for Sherlock, which, may or may not be true.

You were in line at the deli ordering sandwiches for lunch and the thought kept bugging you. You cared about Sherlock, yeah, but you didn’t think that you had romantic feelings. Sure, he was handsome and extremely smart and could play the violin like an expert, but those are qualities anyone could admire, right?

_Crap. Maybe Mycroft is right._

The lady behind the counter called your name and you thanked her, taking your bag before exiting the shop. When you got back home, you could hear John and Sherlock talking.

“Because I had a row in the shop with a chip and PIN machine,” John said, almost ashamed.

“You… you had a row with a machine?”

You entered then, placing the bag of sandwiches on the kitchen table.

“Sort of. It sat there and I shouted abuse. Have you got cash?”

“Take my card.”

John entered the kitchen to take Sherlock’s wallet, “You could always go yourself, you know, you’ve been sitting there all morning and not even moved since I left.”

You watched Sherlock shift and look back to the book in his hands. He was definitely hiding something, but what could have happened in the less than half hour that the two of you were gone?

John continued, “And what happened about that case you were offered, the Jaria diamond?”

Sherlock closed the book in his hands and you walked out to him, handing him his lunch. He looked up at you with a smile while answering John, “Not interested.”

He kicked something under his chair and you backed up slightly to see what it was. You saw a long blade and looked at Sherlock with your eyebrow raised. In response he said, “I sent them a message.”

You knew that that was a satisfactory answer for both you and John, and you didn’t question it further.

You made your way back into the kitchen to eat your own food and noted at the same time John did, the long gash across the table.

John sighed and you said to him, “Hey John. I’ve got cash, I’ll give you that if you are going back to the store.”

“Thanks Y/N, but Sherlock gave me his card.”

You walked over to your coat pocket and took out your wallet, “Yeah, but I’d be pretty pissed if I went back with a different card and it got declined too. So here, just take this, it’s a sure thing.”

He took it from you before looking back at Sherlock who was grinning.

“Right, okay. I’ll be back,” John said, making his way out the door.

“John, wait! What about lunch?”

He turned around, grabbed his food and turned to leave again.

When he was gone, you brought your food into the living room to sit with Sherlock while you ate, “So what have you been up to today?”

“I assume you already know.”

“Well, yeah, judging by the gashes on the table and the sword under your chair, which, by the way has moved, I’d say someone was here and you had to kick some ass… or get your ass kicked?”

Sherlock smiled but didn’t say anything, instead he took a bite of his sandwich.

You did the same, but decided to ask, “So, I’m guessing you didn’t kill him, otherwise there’d be a bigger mess, which means you knocked him out. So what’d you do with the body?”

“I rolled it out the window.”

“Oh, huh. I guess that is a good way to get your message across. I didn’t see anything when I got back, so I’m guessing they were watching and when they saw that happen they got his body? Pretty cool.”

Once again, Sherlock said nothing and the two of you ate in comfortable silence.

When John got back almost an hour later, you were sitting in Sherlock’s chair watching TV while Sherlock was doing something on John’s computer.

You heard them arguing and turned to see John walking back towards you with his laptop in hand, “Relax John, it’s not like he was doing anything you wouldn’t do.”

He shoved you lightly in response before going to sit in his chair.

He picked up a stack of open mail and looked them over, “Need to get a job.”

Sherlock responded, “Oh, dull.”

John was in the process of asking to borrow money from Sherlock when you walked over to him and took the papers. Looking them over you saw it wasn’t too bad, the money from Mycroft would more than cover these.

“John, don’t worry about it, I got it.”

He looked up at you, “Yes but, you can’t keep doing this.”

“Why not? I don’t mind. Besides, now that Sherlock has been getting more cases I have less of his things to pay for.”

Sherlock spoke before John could answer you, “I need to go to the bank.”

You gave John a questioning look before following Sherlock out the door.

**

After finding out that the marks made in spray paint were numbers, Sherlock deduced that the men were targeted and that it was a hit.

You used your sources to find out what the numbers meant and who could have made them. That led the three of you to the museum in search of Soo Lin Yao. As expected, she was there, performing her tea ceremony when the three of you startled her.

Unfortunately, while she was explaining to you about the cipher and that she was next, her brother had found her. You and Sherlock took off in the direction of the sound, and John stayed with Soo Lin before taking off after the two of you.

While you were distracted, Soo Lin was murdered, dissipating any chances you had of finding out the one question that resonated in your mind, _why_?

You found yourselves going through crates upon crates of books gathered from the homes of Lukis and Van Coon. You figured that Sherlock would be much faster at going through the books than you or John, so you went and helped John go through his respective cases.

Hours had passed and no luck. Currently, you were resting your head on your hand, borderline asleep. Your head slipped and hit the desk though when the alarm on John’s watch went off.

“I’m up!” you yelled before adjusting to the scene around you.

John smirked at you before looking outside and sighing. You’d realized then that he was late for work. He begrudgingly got up, making his way to the stairs so he could change.

You sat back and watched Sherlock, who was no doubt oblivious to anything that had just happened, work.

After several minutes you decided to make some tea and breakfast. Knowing that Sherlock would argue that he doesn’t eat while on a case, you didn’t go all out, you just had toast and a piece of fruit. You did however, bring Sherlock a cup of tea, and when you went back into the living room, you heard him muttering to himself.

“A book that everyone would own,” he said as he scanned his bookshelf.

You waited until he finished going through the books he had taken off before getting his attention, “Sherlock, here, I made some tea.”

He gave you a sideway glance and went back to searching through one of Lukis’s containers.

You stepped up to him, gently putting your hand on his left cheek and guiding his face to look at you. When he did, you noticed his eyes searching your face for an explanation and when he couldn’t find one, he sighed.

“Just take a second, relax. Drink this tea and maybe go take a shower or something. I’ll keep looking.”

“Where’s John?” He asked while looking around the room.

“He went to work almost an hour ago, Sherlock.”

“But I was just talking to him.”

“Well, he’s not here. I heard what you were saying, even tried to answer you a few times, but you didn’t say anything back. So you know what I think? I think you just talk to yourself and say that you thought you were talking to John.”

You slid your hand from his face, intending to place it on his chest. But instead, he grabbed your hand, holding it between the two of you, “Clever girl.”

You smiled up at him, “Yup. Now go do something else, I got this.”

For a moment you thought he was going to argue with you, instead he leaned forward and pressed a kiss to your forehead before heading into the bathroom to take a shower.

Several hours later, John got home from work. You were sitting on the floor beside where Sherlock was standing, an array of books spread out in front of you. You had a notebook with various titles both Lukis and Van Coon owned, along with the words from the text that followed the code.

The moment that John entered the room, Sherlock shook out his curls in frustration announcing, “I need to get some air. We’re going out tonight.”

“Actually, I’ve got a date.”

“What?”

“It’s where two people who like each other go out and have fun?”

You stood up then, looking between your boys. Sherlock looked confused, “That’s what I was suggesting.”

“No it wasn’t. At least, I hope not.”

Sherlock ignored his comment, “Where are you taking her?”

“Eh, cinema.”

“Eh, dull, boring, predictable.”

You lightly slapped Sherlock’s arm, “be nice” you scolded.

Sherlock smiled, picking up a pamphlet to hand to John, “Why don’t you try this? In London for one night only.”

You peeked over John’s shoulder trying to read it as well, “Thanks, but I don’t come to you for dating advice. Y/N, however…” John looked to you for advice on the matter, obviously second guessing himself since Sherlock had said something.

“I think going to the movies would be nice. I mean, that’s a fun, stress-free date, I’m sure she’d love that.” John looked at Sherlock as though he had one a game. You continued, “But,” the smile on John’s face fell as he looked back to you, “I think that taking her here would be better. It’s something different and spontaneous, I think that would make the date more memorable.”

Looking back and forth between you and Sherlock, John sighed in defeat. “Fine, I guess I’ll order the tickets then.”

Sherlock stepped forward, taking the pamphlet from John, “Don’t bother, I’ll handle it.”

“Uhm, thanks.”

John turned to leave and you looked to Sherlock, “What are you planning?”

“Who says I’m planning anything?” He flashed you one of those charming smiles of his.

“It’s just incredibly obvious that you think this is somehow connected to the murders.”

He walked over to his laptop as he spoke, “Very good, Y/N. Don’t you find it a bit suspicious that they are only in town one night? A group from China? Where our two businessmen have recently traveled before coming home only to be murdered?”

“Okay, but you can’t just send John there alone for a date.”

“Oh he won’t be alone.”

You raised your eyebrow at him, prompting him to elaborate.

“You and I will be there too,” he lifted his laptop for you to see that he had ordered four tickets.

“Is this your way of asking me on a date, Sherlock Holmes?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

**

You decided to wear a dress and flats for the night, even if it seemed a bit impractical since you were pretty sure you’d be having to do some running at some point in the night. Nonetheless, you wanted to dress up, it’d been a while since you’d gotten a chance, and you weren’t letting the opportunity slip away.

You regretted that almost immediately though, it was freezing outside and you wished you had something to cover your legs. You buried your face in your coat and let out a huff of annoyance.Sherlock asked if you were alright, amusement lacing his deep voice.

Ignoring him, you continued the short walk to the building where the circus was being held.  
You’d gotten there just in time to explain why there were four tickets instead of two, Sherlock sticking his hand out to John’s date as an introduction, “I’m Sherlock.”

She laughed awkwardly and you stuck your hand out too, “And I’m Y/N.”

“Hi.”

“Hello,” you turned to John, nudging him, “Good job John, she’s cute.”

They both laughed but John didn’t have time to respond because Sherlock had walked away, so you followed.

You learned the woman’s name was Sarah in the time you were waiting with the boys for her to come out of the bathroom.

John was clearly annoyed, “You couldn’t let me have just one night off?”

“Yellow Dragon Circus, in London for one day. It fits. The Tong sent an assassin to England-”

“Dressed as a tightrope walker? Come on, Sherlock, behave!”

“We’re looking for a killer who can climb, who can shin up a rope. Where else would you find that level of dexterity? Exit visas are scarce in China; they need a pretty good reason to get out of that country. Now, all I need to do is have a quick look around the place.”

“Alright. You do that. I’m gonna take Sarah for a pint.”

“I need your help,” Sherlock argued.

You just stood there listening, scanning the crowd to make sure no one would hear the conversation.

“Y/N is right there, isn’t that why you brought her? To help? Or did you have other motives? Because I do have a couple of other things on my mind this evening.”

Sherlock ignored the first half of what John said, “Like what?”

“You are kidding?”

“What’s so important?”

You turned to look down at John, “He’s not kidding, John. You might have to spell it out for him, unless you want me to.”

John sighed, “Sherlock, I’m right in the middle of a date. You’re going to chase some killer while I’m trying to….”

John looked to you for help, but you just smiled. Sherlock was growing increasingly impatient, “What?”

You noticed Sarah coming up the stairs as John yelled, “While I’m trying to get off with Sarah,” he noticed her beside him then, “Hey… ready?”

You put grabbed Sherlock’s arm, gently pulling him towards you so you could enter the auditorium, why stay and help John explain that awkward slip?

When you got into the room, you noticed how small the crowd was. You figured though, that that may have been a good thing considering something bad may or may not happen.

Of course, John and Sherlock were bickering and Sarah turned to look at you. You weren’t really in the mood for talking, so you just smiled and leaned back against Sherlock. He didn’t seem to know what to do because he had just put his hands on your arms, holding you to him.

You moved so that you could put his arms around your waist then reached back to touch his face. He followed your movements and you led his head to rest on your shoulder.

You turned so you could whisper in his ear, your lips softly dragging across his cheek, “Stay like this, that way if I notice anything I can tell you. And this way, it doesn’t look suspicious, we just look like a couple.”

Sherlock nodded and you moved so your arms were at your sides, Sherlock’s successfully pinning them down.

John looked at the two of you and gave a questioning glare, “What?” you felt Sherlock chuckle behind you which sent chills throughout your body. 

“Uhm, nothing” John whispered before turning back and watching the show.

As the act played out, you listened as Sherlock explained what was happening. This was just a distraction for John and Sarah though, and it seemed to work because they were so engrossed in watching what was happening in front of them that they hadn’t noticed you and Sherlock slip away.

Sherlock held your hand, guiding you back stage. You were told to look for anything out of place and that’s when you saw the spray paint. Someone had come back there while the two of you looked, so you ducked down behind a wardrobe rack.

You motioned to Sherlock, pointing out the paint. When the coast was clear, he stood up, taking one of the cans and spraying it across the mirror. It was the same paint that was used in the ciphers.

From beside you, what you thought was a statue began to move. It lunged for Sherlock, and you worked to get it off of him. Once again, you were wishing you hadn’t worn a dress as you jumped onto the man’s back.

He threw you off before kicking Sherlock through the curtain and doing flips out after him. You threw yourself up and followed, determined to take the bastard down.

You noticed John ran towards him, but was kicked off, and out the corner of your eye you saw the man who must have been Soo Lin’s brother take off running.

You ran after him, not really having a plan in mind. When you got to the base of the stairs though, he was nowhere in sight. _Should’ve seen that coming,_ you thought.

Turning to head back into the auditorium, you saw Sherlock and the others coming down to you.

Over the next hour or so you found yourselves at New Scotland Yard trying to explain what had happened, and then eventually back at the apartment.

After taking your jacket off, you kicked your shoes off and made your way to stand beside Sherlock to examine the wall that was littered with all that you’d found on the case so far.

You were talking with Sherlock when Sarah interrupted, “Well, I think perhaps I should leave you to it.”

You smiled at her while John and Sherlock said their thoughts simultaneously, “No, you don’t have to go.” “Yes, it’d be better if you left now.”

John turned to Sherlock then back to Sarah, “You can stay. He’s kidding, please stay if you’d like.”

She shifted uncomfortably, “Is it just me or is anyone else starving?”

Sherlock rolled his eyes beside you, “oh, god.”

“Ignore him,” you told Sarah before telling John to go find something for dinner.

You stayed with Sherlock, taking the duplicate photos of the case and spreading them across Sherlock’s desk.

For some reason, Sarah didn’t follow John into the kitchen, she stayed and watched what you and Sherlock were working on. You were aware of her talking, but you weren’t paying attention to her. You had your Chinese number cheat sheet in your hand you were going over it to make sure that you hadn’t missed translating any parts of the code.

Something Sarah said annoyed Sherlock because he growled, “Consulting detective.”

You looked back at her, expecting to see her look offended, but she didn’t look fazed at all. 

John was still in the kitchen looking for something to eat and you wondered what was taking him so long, you’d gotten groceries only three days ago.

Sarah was starting to annoy you, she was asking stupid questions and taking time away from the case. You could feel how irritated Sherlock was too so you got up to see what was taking John so long.

When you entered the kitchen, you saw John stirring a pitcher of punch. You crossed your arms over your chest and leaned against the door frame, “Mrs. Hudson prepared that for you, didn’t she?”

John looked to you, “How did you-”

“Because when I visit with her in her apartment she uses that same pitcher for drinks.”

“Yes, well. We don’t have anything here.”

“What? But we just got a bunch of stuff-”  
Sherlock interrupted by calling both your names.

You both walked out to see what Sherlock was talking about, “look at this,” he said as he opened a baggie, “Soo Lin at the museum, she started to translate the code for us. We didn’t see it. Nine, mill.”

John leaned forward examining the photograph that was in Sherlock’s hands, “Does that mean millions?”

“Nine million quid. For what? We need to know the end of this sentence.”

“Where are you going?”

“To the museum, to the restoration room. Oh, we must have been staring right at it.”

“At what?”

Sherlock was putting his jacket on now and you took that as your cue to do the same, “The book, John. The book. The key to cracking the cipher. Soo Lin used it to do this. Whilst we were running around the gallery, she started to translate the code. It must be on her desk.”

Sherlock took off and you followed after him, “Sherlock, slow down!”

He ignored you, continuing on down the stairs and out onto the street. You watched Sherlock run out to call a taxi as he bumped into some tourists. You saw the booklet Sherlock picked up for them off the ground, when it hit you. You looked around, several people on the street had the exact same one.

You heard Sherlock behind you groaning in frustration, “Sherlock,” you tried, but he didn’t answer.

You ran after the couple Sherlock had run into, taking the booklet from their hands. You told them you just needed to borrow it for a moment and that you were sorry, suddenly thankful you had to learn German for a mission.

Frustrated, the couple left and you turned to see Sherlock jogging over to you, “took you long enough to figure it out.”

He bent down and grabbed your face before pressing his lips firmly to yours.

The kiss only lasted a few seconds before Sherlock pulled back and took the book from your hands muttering, “Page 15, entry one. Page 15, entry one.”

You pulled the book down slightly so you could see what he was doing and that’s when you saw the word.

“Deadman. You were threatening to kill them. That’s the first cipher.”

You pulled the photo John had taken of the wall by the train tracks out of your pocket, along with a marker, “Sherlock, the next numbers are nine, zero, and fifteen.”

Sherlock began muttering beside you again, “Eh, fifteen and thirty-six. Thirty-six, thirty nine, thirty nine, thirty nine.”

The two of you worked out the code as quickly as you could without getting in each other’s way. It took only a few minutes before Sherlock read aloud, “Nine mill for… jade pin… dragon den, black… tramway.”

You looked at each other then rushed inside to get John. When you got inside though, he nor Sarah were anywhere in sight. Instead, what you and Sherlock saw was a cipher painted on the windows.

“Oh, hell…” you whispered before jumping in front of Sherlock, “Come on, we’ve got to go! If we learned anything from this whole thing it’s that those markings mean death, and they’ve got John! So snap out of it, and let’s go!”

You grabbed onto his arm but he wouldn’t budge, “Sherlock!”

He walked over to his bookshelf and took down a map. Unfolding it, he scanned where the tramway would be. Finding it, the two of you ran out to get a cab.

After what felt like hours, you made it to the underground where you heard yelling. Sherlock took off ahead of you, motioning for you to stay back.

You could hear John yelling, “I’m not Sherlock Holmes!”

The woman who led the circus spoke then, “I don’t believe you.”

You watched as Sherlock stepped out to expose himself, “You should, you know! Sherlock Holmes is nothing at all like him,” there was a gunshot as Sherlock jumped back towards you. He held up two fingers to you signaling two men would be coming this way.

You nodded at him while he continued, “How would you describe me, John? Resourceful? Dynamic? Enigmatic? … That’s a semi-automatic; you fire it, the bullet will travel at over 1,000 meters per second.”

Seeing the shadows of two rather large men, Sherlock nodded at you, signaling to attack.

The woman responded, “Well?”

“Well,” Sherlock said as he swung a pipe at one of the men, “the radius curvature of these walls is nearly four meters. If you miss, the bullet will ricochet. Could hit anyone; might even bounce off the tunnel and hit you.”

You picked up a rather large rock and swung it, hitting the man coming after you in the temple. He stumbled back a bit, giving you an opportunity to have the upper hand. You hit another time with the rock before dropping it to the side and rotating on your heel to kick him in the stomach.

The man stumbled back a few more feet, his back hitting the wall. You pulled your arm back as far as you could and exhaled, punching the man as hard as you could in the nose. You heard the crunch and backed away as the man slouched and hit the ground.

The man Sherlock was fighting was down too, and you watched as he ran and kicked over the drum with fire in it, causing the tunnel to go completely black on your end. The only light still remaining was that coming from behind John.

Sherlock rushed over to untie Sarah, while you made your way over to John. You heard a gasp of breath and turned to see another man with a scarf pulled tightly around Sherlock’s neck. He struggled with the man and you noticed the sand pouring out of the bag above your heads, there wasn’t much time.

Sherlock kept fighting to save Sarah but he kept getting pulled away. You left John, running over and cutting the scarf halfway between Sherlock and the man. The man stumbled forward and charged at you as Sherlock went back to untying Sarah from the chair.

You fought with the man, punching his throat and kicking his stomach, he wasn’t budging. Out of the corner of your eye you saw John fall forward in his chair. He struggled to get to the mechanism in an attempt to stop the arrow. You backed away from the man just as John kicked, causing the arrow to go right into the man’s chest.

You fell to your knees beside Sherlock, not caring about the rocks that were digging into your flesh.

When everything was over with, you walked beside Sherlock, not knowing what to say. It was odd to you though that Sarah still wanted anything to do with John after what they had just experienced, _any other girl would have taken off._

You were pulled from your thoughts as Sherlock was speaking to the Inspector Dimmock. Something about him realizing that Sherlock was actually helpful and a good guy made you feel really good, accomplished even.

You sighed quietly to yourself, _I guess it’s time for me to admit that I do have strong feelings for none other than the Sherlock Holmes._

You’d gotten a cab back to Baker Street with Sherlock, John went to take Sarah home. On the ride you thought about asking about the kiss and what it meant, but instead you decided to just enjoy the silence.

You glanced over at Sherlock who was looking out the window at the passing cars. Your eyes scanned his face, noting a cut on his cheekbone and every now and again when you passed under a street light you could see the bruising beginning to appear on his neck.

You looked away, settling on watching the scenery out the window also. Sherlock had felt you watching him, but he didn’t say anything. He noticed you weren’t looking at him anymore and took his opportunity to observe you. He took in your features, like your disheveled hair, your skinned and bloody knees, and the way you hugged yourself as though to keep out the cold, or maybe it was for comfort, he couldn’t tell exactly. All he knew was that you were beautiful.

He thought about telling you that earlier in the evening, but he was always on about how beauty was a false ideation created in childhood. He would eventually get over that though as he came to grips with your strange relationship.

Once the two of you got home, you went straight to your shared room to grab pajamas. You changed in the bathroom after you cleaned and bandaged your knees. You took your makeup off as you brushed your teeth and, despite how tired and worn out you looked, you still looked like you were glowing.

Sherlock was waiting for you to come out of the bathroom so that he could shower; he was waiting patiently, cleaning up some of the mess off of his desk. He’d have to call in the morning for the books to be cleared out.

You finished in the bathroom and made your way to the couch, preparing to sleep. You sent Mycroft a text about what happened tonight, leaving out the part where his baby brother kissed you. Something about tonight just didn’t feel right, you just wanted a second opinion.

Sherlock was going to ask if you want to sleep in his bed, that he would take the couch, but when he got out of the shower, you were already sound asleep. He smiled at your sleeping form before heading off to bed himself.

The next morning you woke up to the smell of coffee and Sherlock’s voice. You sat up and wiped the sleep from your eyes before heading into the kitchen to meet the boys. Sherlock was explaining to John about the cipher and what it all meant.

When you were all ready for the day, the three of you made your way to the bank to speak to Amanda and Sebastian. You were going to go with John, instead following Sherlock to see the pin that caused all this trouble.

Sherlock talked to Amanda about everything, leading her on about the pin, until he finally asked to see it, “He didn’t know its value, just that it would suit you.”

She leaned forward, “Oh yeah, and what’s it worth?”

“Nine million pounds,” Sherlock enunciated each word to get his point across.

Amanda stumbled back in disbelief, but you couldn’t take your eyes off the pin; it was beautiful. It was small, about the size of your pinky, but it was thick and in the shape of a snake. No other word but beautiful could be used to describe it.

Sherlock watched you with curiosity as you stared at the pin in his hands, from the other room, John noticed too. He didn’t say anything though until the next morning, when the information about the pin was all over the papers.

**

The two of you were sitting at the table together after breakfast. Sherlock was out playing his violin; it was a piece you hadn’t heard before. You watched as Sherlock swayed along, caught up in the beauty of the new tune. John cleared his throat, pulling you from your trance.

“What?”

“So you two, what happened?” John questioned.

You blinked twice but said nothing, “he’s acting differently, happier maybe. I’d say it was because we solved a case, but it’s more than that.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, John,” you could feel your cheeks heating up.

“The two of you come along on my date, no doubt a date yourselves, and since then you’ve both been a little out of character. Don’t get me wrong, it’s a great thing, I just wanna know what happened.”

You exhaled sharply, “Fine, he kissed me.”

“He what?”

“He kissed me. It was when we solved the cipher. We were outside figuring it out and once we had he grabbed my face and kissed me, that’s it. It wasn’t the best timing because right after that we came in to find you and tell you we solved it, and that’s when we noticed you and Sarah were missing.”

John was staring at you like you had three heads, “Sherlock…. Kissed you.”

“Yes, John.”

He looked between you and Sherlock before a smile blossomed across his face, “So what does this mean? I mean for the two of you?”

You went back to watching Sherlock who had stopped playing momentarily to write some of the notes down.

You kept your voice down as you spoke, not wanting Sherlock to hear, “I’m not sure. I don’t know if this means that he likes me too and we just need to talk about a relationship, or if he did it out of excitement.”

“Y/N, of course he has feelings for you, it’s rather obvious.”

“But that doesn’t mean that he wants a relationship. Remember the night we met? Sherlock told you he was married to his work. Oh, and Mycroft keeps putting it in his head, mine too, that caring is not an advantage and love is a distraction. I just don’t know, John.”

“Right, well. He’ll come around,” John simply smiled and you got up to leave.

You’d forgotten your phone on the table when you left, and it dinged with a new message. Curious, John picked it up and saw you had a text from Mycroft.

John set the phone back down and looked at Sherlock. He wondered if this meant you’d be leaving for a couple of weeks again.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I went into Word to edit/post this chapter, only to find it was DELETED. Along with chapters 5 and 6 and two other parts I already wrote for future chapters. That total was over 35thousand words. So I am pretty bummed. 
> 
> Since I promised this chapter tonight, I rushed to redo it. Because of that, it is unedited and I'm so sorry if it wasn't what any of you were expecting

You were sitting in John’s chair, across from Sherlock. You were working on your laptop, writing up a report for Mycroft, and you were glad he hadn’t made you go into the office so late at night. Skimming over the digital file of the victim, Ryan Devro, you suddenly felt sorry for the guy.

He was an agent just like you, except he was there a lot longer than you but hadn’t really had the chance to climb the ranks. In your readings you found that while on a mission, he had an affair with a woman in Italy. Turns out, his wife found out about it and had forgiven him.

You continued reading and saw that he had had multiple affairs, the rest of which his wife didn’t know about… until last night it seemed.

You heard Sherlock groaning, obviously annoyed that you weren’t giving him any attention. He slumped down in his chair so that he was completely straight, his arms spread to keep him from sliding completely off the chair. You felt him looking at you, but you just got right back to work, ignoring him.

You went back to filling out the report, noting that his wife’s jealousy and anger had gotten the best of her. She had taken arsenic and put a hefty dose in Ryan’s tea; He had a stroke in his sleep and asphyxiated on his on saliva.

 _Guess he got what was coming to him_ , you thought to yourself.

You heard the door open and close downstairs, signaling John was probably back from wherever the hell he’d gone. You saw Sherlock shift a little in front of you, but paid it no mind… that is until he randomly shot four rounds into the wall.

John came rushing into the room, “What the hell are you doing?”

Sherlock’s face was calm and he was back in the position he was in before he decided to be a nut. He was looking straight at you when he answered John, “Bored.”

“What?” You and John said simultaneously.

“Bored!” Sherlock yelled as he jumped up out of his chair and fired two more rounds into the wall.

John ran forward taking the gun from Sherlock, who casually walked over to the couch while saying, “Don’t know what’s got into the criminal classes. Good job I’m not one of them.”

John was locking the gun in his desk and sending Sherlock a disapproving look, “So you take it out on the wall?”

“Oh, the wall had it coming,” He pulled a loose piece of wallpaper off before dramatically throwing himself down onto the couch.

John looked at you and you threw your hands up in surrender, “Don’t look at me, I’m doing work, I had no idea he was randomly gonna empty a clip into the wall.”

John sighed, shifting his attention back to Sherlock, “What about that Russian case?”

“Belarus. Open and shut domestic murder, not worth my time.”

“Oh, shame,” John responded sarcastically, “Anything in? I’m starving.”

You heard the fridge open then sounds of disgust. Looking over your shoulder you saw John open the fridge again and saw what he saw, “It’s a head… A severed head!”

“Just tea for me, thanks.”

“No, there’s a head in the fridge.”

“Yes?”

“A bloody head!”

John appeared next to you then, you had a feeling he’d be leaving again.

Sighing, you finished what you were working on then closed your laptop and looked up to watch the interaction in front of you.

“Well, where else was I supposed to put it? You don’t mind, do you?”

“Well…” John breathed.

“Got it from Bart’s morgue,” Sherlock took a deep breath, “I’m measuring the coagulation of saliva after death. I see you’ve written up the taxi driver case.”

“Uh… yes.” John looked at you in his chair then moved to go sit in Sherlock’s.

You gave an apologetic smile to which he just nodded his head.

Sherlock continued, “ _A Study in Pink_ , nice.”

“Well, you know. Pink lady, pink case, pink phone. There was a lot of pink. Did you like it?”

Sherlock was acting like he was skimming the newspaper, the front cover reading _The Lost Vermeer_.

You’d been hearing about that all over the news, the painting was supposed to have been lost centuries ago and now all of a sudden, it was found. You thought it was a little odd that Sherlock hadn’t commented on it.

You guessed he was a little bitter about John’s blog, and your theory was confirmed by Sherlock’s tone when he spoke again, “Uhmm…. No.”

John seemed taken aback by this, “Why not? I thought you’d be flattered.”

“Flattered? “Sherlock sees through everything and everyone in seconds. What’s incredible, though, is how spectacularly ignorant he is about some things.””

“Now hang on a minute, I didn’t mean that…” John tried to explain himself to no avail.

Sherlock cut him off, even angrier than previously, “Oh, you meant “spectacularly ignorant” in a nice way. Look, it doesn’t matter to me who’s Prime Minister or who’s sleeping with who.”

You saw the opportunity to interject then, “Or whether the Earth goes around the sun.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes, “oh, god, that again. It’s not important!”

“No, but it’s something you learn when you’re like seven in school,” you teased.

John leaned forward in his chair, “How could you not know that?”

With his hands on his eyes Sherlock replied, “Well, if I ever did, I’ve deleted it.”

“Deleted it?”

Sherlock sat up so quick you were surprised it hadn’t made him dizzy, “Listen. This is my hard drive, and it only makes sense to put things in there that are useful, really useful. Ordinary people fill their heads with all kinds of rubbish and that makes it hard to get to the stuff that matters. Do you see?"

One thing that Sherlock said had you frozen in place: _ordinary people_. That’s something that Moriarty said constantly. You thought about everything you had experienced with him, everything he told Mycroft during the interrogations as you watched from behind the glass.

You were pulled from your thoughts when Sherlock groaned and yelled, “Oh, hell! What does that matter? So we go around the sun. If we went around the moon or round and round the garden like a teddy bear, it wouldn’t make a difference. All that matters to me is the work! Without that, my brain rots. Put that in your blog. Or better still, stop inflicting your opinions on the world.”

Sherlock hit the magazines on the table before dramatically throwing himself back into a laying position and curling into a ball.

Offended, John got up to leave and Sherlock called after him, “Where are you going?”

“Out! I need some air.”

Sherlock rolled back over as Mrs. Hudson came in.

“Evening Mrs. Hudson,” you called.

“Evening love,” she turned to Sherlock, “Have you two had a little domestic?”

Sherlock got up, stepping over the table and moving over to the window. You did the same, setting your laptop on the chair before walking over to him.

You saw John leaving as you wrapped your arms around Sherlock’s front.

Mrs. Hudson noticed and smiled before she sighed, “Oh, it’s a but nippy out there. He should have wrapped himself up a bit more.”

“Look at that, Mrs. Hudson. Quiet, calm, peaceful, isn’t it hateful?” you rested your head on his chest listening to the way the words reverberated in his chest.

“Oh, I’m sure something will turn up, Sherlock. A nice murder, that’ll cheer you up.”

Sherlock looked down at you and pressed his lips to your forehead, “Mmm, can’t come too soon.”

Mrs. Hudson was making her way out the door when she turned and stopped, “Hey, what have you done to my bloody wall?”

Sherlock smiled while turning both of you so you could look at his work.

Rushing out Mrs. Hudson called, “I’m putting this on your rent, young man!”

Your hands were on Sherlock’s chest, and you were about to reach up to kiss him when you were all of a sudden blown to the ground.

There was a piercing ringing echoing in your ears and your vision was blurry. You tried to move to sit up, your hand instinctively going to your head.

Taking a deep breath, you felt a weight on you and looked down to see Sherlock. He was groaning and shifting, making to stand up. 

“Are you alright, Y/N?”

“Yeah, I’m fine, are you okay?”

He groaned in response from above you, offering you his hand to help you stand up. Once you were on your feet, you saw the windows were completely blown out. There was glass and wood everywhere, along with papers from Sherlock’s desk and music stand.

Seeing glass in Sherlock’s hair, you moved to examine him some more. You stepped on glass as you did, looking down at your bare feet surrounded by splintered shards. You saw your left arm out of the corner of your eye and looked to see multiple cuts, none of which seemed too bad.

“What the hell happened?”

Sherlock hadn’t answered you, he simply picked you up and carried you to his bedroom.

“Sherlock, what are you doing?”

Setting you on the bed, he looked you over several times, probably to make sure there wasn’t any glass on you and to make sure you didn’t have any serious wounds.

“I’m glad you weren’t hurt,” he whispered as he sat down next to you on the bed.

“Yeah, I was thinking the same thing.”

What Sherlock did next surprised you. He pulled you in for a long and tender kiss. When it ended, your foreheads were pressed together and you were just enjoying everything that is Sherlock.

“Y/N, I know,” he paused to gather his thoughts, “I know I’ve said before that I wasn’t looking for anything, but these past few months, you’ve done nothing but put up with my shit and take care of me. So, if you’ll have me, I would like to put a name on our relationship.”

“Are you two alright? Oh! Sorry, am I interrupting something?” Mrs. Hudson wondered aloud.

You pulled away from Sherlock, “Yeah, we’re okay. Just a couple of cuts and probable hearing loss,” you joked.

“Oh dear,” Mrs. Hudson left the room and came back with a first aid kit.

She moved to help clean your cuts but you stopped her, “I’m okay, thank you.”

You could hear the police sirens and an ambulance in the distance and you knew they were coming to the house.

By the time Lestrade and the others arrived, you were cleaned up and back in the living room, this time with shoes on. Standing beside Sherlock you were giving your statement, explaining how you were standing by the window about to head to bed when the explosion came out of nowhere.

It was the early hours of the morning when everything was cleaned up and you were alone with Sherlock. You’d both decided there was no point in going to sleep, but that didn’t stop you from laying together until it was time to get up again.

Only a few hours had passed before Mycroft showed up and you watched as he found ways to show his concern while irritating his brother. You’d decided to take a shower, leaving them to interrogate each other. 

Not long after you’d gotten out, John had come back, no doubt just hearing about what happened. You were sitting on the table in front of the couch while Sherlock was in his chair with his violin and Mycroft was in John’s chair with his umbrella.

“I saw it on the telly, are you guys okay?” John questioned.

The room was a bit smoky and there was barely any light shining through the boarded up windows.

Sherlock looked around, “Me? What? Oh, yeah, fine. Gas leak, apparently.”

“Yeah, we’re fine, John. It happened shortly after you left last night. Should’ve been here, you missed all the fun,” you joked.

John walked over to you and wrapped an arm around your shoulder, pulling you into a side hug. Sherlock watched the exchange before turning back to Mycroft, “I can’t.”

“Can’t?”

“Stuff I’ve got on is just too big. I can’t spare the time.”

“Never mind your usual trivia. This is of national importance.”

Sherlock struck a note on his violin before changing the subject, “How’s the diet?”

“Fine,” Mycroft turned to John who was walking over to the window closest to you, “Perhaps you can get through to him, John, Y/N can’t seem to help me.”

“What?”

“I’m afraid my brother can be very intransigent.”

Another note on his violin, “If you’re so keen, why don’t you investigate it?”

“No, no, no, no. I can’t possibly be away from the office for any length of time. Not with the Korean elections so….”

John and Sherlock looked up in interest then to you for answers.

Mycroft continued, “Well, you don’t need to know about that, do you? Besides a case like this, it requires… legwork.”

Another note. If he did it one more time you’d take the violin from him.

Eyeing Sherlock as a warning, you addressed Mycroft, “you know you didn’t have to say anything about the elections, you just wanted to get under Sherlock’s skin.”

He smiled at you and Sherlock changed the subject momentarily, “How’s Sarah, John? How was the lilo?”

“Sofa, Sherlock. It was the sofa.”

“Oh, yes, of course.”

“How… Oh, never mind,” John said as he sat down next to you on the table.

Mycroft continued, “Sherlock’s business seems to be booming since you and he became… pals. What’s he like to live with? Hellish, I imagine.”

“Well, I’m never bored.”

“Good. That’s good, isn’t it?”

You watched the exchange between Sherlock and Mycroft as Mycroft stood to hand him the file. Ignoring him and going back to strumming his violin, Mycroft walked over to you.

You pointed to John with your head and Mycroft gave you a disapproving look before handing the file to John, “Andrew West, known as Westie to his friends. Civil servant. Found dead on the tracks at Battersea Station this morning with his head bashed in.”

“Jumped in front of a train?”

“Seems the logical assumption.”

“But?”

“But?”

“Oh come on Mycroft, you know what he’s saying,” you taunted as you walked over sit on the arm of Sherlock’s chair.

When Mycroft didn’t answer, John continued, “Well, you wouldn’t be here if it was just an accident.”

Sherlock laughed and began adding resin to his bow.

“The MOD is working on a new missile defense system. The Bruce-Partington program it’s called. The plans for it were on a memory stick.”

John chuckled, “That wasn’t very clever.”

Sherlock smiled beside you, you could tell he was enjoying John taking jabs at his brother.

“It’s not the only copy.”

“Oh.”

“But it is secret, and missing.”

“Top secret.”

“Very. We think West must have taken the memory stick; We can’t risk it falling into the wrong hands. You’ve got to find those plans, Sherlock. Don’t make me order you.”

Sherlock put his violin into place, “I’d like to see you try.”

“Think it over.”

“Goodbye Y/N, John. See you very soon.”

Sherlock watched as Mycroft left then began to make the most obnoxious sounds possible on such a beautiful instrument.

You ran after Mycroft and caught him halfway down the stairs, “Mycroft wait,” he turned to look at you but said nothing, “the wrong hands… were you talking about Moriarty?”

He sighed while turning his body to face you, “Worst case, yes. Now you see why this is so important, try to talk some sense into my brother.”

And with that he descended the rest of the stairs and left.

You slowly walked back up the stairs, thinking about how to explain the importance of getting the memory stick back without directly mentioning Moriarty. Part of you wanted to tell Sherlock, you figured that he would put the pieces together soon enough, but you didn’t know how he would take the news of you knowing about him.

You entered the living room again as Sherlock was answering his phone.

“Sherlock Holmes…. Of course. How could I refuse?” Sherlock hung up and sprung from his seat, “Lestrade. I’ve been summoned. Coming?”

“If you want me to” John piped up.

“Me too?” you questioned.

Sherlock responded simply, “of course.”

On the way out, you held John back so you could talk to him without Sherlock hearing, “So I meant it when I said you missed all the fun last night.”

John looked to you, not fully understanding what you were saying. A smile blossomed on your face and you stopped walking, watching Sherlock’s figure disappear through the door.

“After the explosion and we determined we were both okay, Sherlock he-,” you took a deep breath, your smile getting bigger, “We’re finally labeling it.”

“What? Really?” You shook your head yes and John added, “It’s about damn time. Glad to know he has human emotions.”

You laughed along with him, making your way outside to wait for the cab beside Sherlock.

When you got to Scotland Yard, Lestrade explained that the explosion was made to look like a gas leak as he handed Sherlock an envelope, “Hardly anything left of the place, except a strongbox. A very strong box, and inside was this.”

Sherlock took it, “you haven’t opened it?”

“It’s addressed to you, isn’t it?” You gave Lestrade a look as if to say, _since when has that stopped you before._

“We’ve x-rayed it. It’s not booby-trapped.”

“How reassuring… Nice stationary, Bohemian.”

“What?”

“From the Czech Republic. No fingerprints?”

“No.”

“She used a fountain pen. Parker Duo fold, iridium nib.”

John spoke up, “She?”

“Obviously.”

“Obviously.”

Sherlock made work of opening the envelope and once it was opened you were shocked to see what was inside, the phone from the first case that Sherlock solved with John.

“But that… that’s the phone. The pink phone.” John stated, confusion lacing his tone.

Lestrade spoke up, “What, from _The Study in Pink?”_

“Well, obviously it’s not the same phone, but it’s supposed to look like… _A Study in Pink_? You read his blog?” Sherlock questioned as he spun around to look at Lestrade.

You laughed to yourself as you looked at John, who had a smile on his face.

Lestrade replied simply, “Of course I read his blog, we all do. Do you really not know that the Earth goes around the sun?”

Donovan came into the room and laughed at what she heard. You turned to her, “Donovan, leave. Now.”

She looked you up and down before turning to leave. You looked back to Lestrade, “It’s not important, leave it alone.”

“Not important? Y/N, it’s the sun. Everyone knows it.”

“Okay, but does knowing that the earth goes around the sun help you at all in your day to day life? Has it ever once helped you to solve a case?”

You waited for him to answer you and he shook his head no before saying, “No, but-”

“But nothing, it isn’t important. So let it go.”

Sherlock looked at you with admiration before focusing his attention back on the phone in his hand, “It isn’t the same phone. This one’s brand new. Someone’s gone through a lot of trouble to make it look like the same phone. Which means, your blog has a far wider readership.”

You stepped forward, pushing off of the desk you were leaning against so you could see what was on the phone. You stood between John and Sherlock, your hand on his lower back as you leaned forward so you could see.

Once Sherlock hit play, the phone announced there was one new message and it played through, five pips.

Lestrade spoke from behind you, “Was that it?”

“No, that’s not it,” Sherlock replied.

The phone beeped again and a picture opened. It was an empty room with mold and tears lining the wallpaper; it was in pretty bad shape.

“What the hell are we supposed to make of that?” Lestrade asked, “An estate agent’s photo and the bloody Greenwich pips.”

You looked up at Sherlock who had muttered, “It’s a warning.” He looked like he realized something, but you didn’t know what.

“A warning?” you asked, expecting him to explain himself.

He took a deep breath, “Some secret societies used to send dried melon seeds, orange pips, things like that. Five pips. They’re warning us it’s going to happen again. I’ve seen this place before.”

Sherlock pushed past the three of you and John struggled to understand from beside you, “Hang on,” he stammered before the two of you turned to follow after Sherlock.

Spinning on his heels, Sherlock looked back at the two of you with his hands in the air, “Boom!” He said nothing more before continuing out of Scotland Yard.

It wasn’t until the four of you had gotten back to Baker Street that anything started to make sense. Even after Sherlock got the call about solving the case within twelve hours, you still had questions, but you were sure of a few things, one of which being that someone was very intent on seeing Sherlock work.

Lestrade had gone back to the station and the rest of you found yourselves at Bart’s up in the lab so Sherlock could study the shoes.

You’d seen Sherlock work before, but something about this case made him excited. He was focused and intent on solving the case within the time allotted. You watched as he examined the shoes and studied his findings under the microscope. He looked at peace and you found it sexy.

You wanted to help, but you didn’t want to be in the way, so you sat off to the side with John and waited.

Only about fifteen minutes had passed before John spoke up, “So, who do you suppose it was?”

To your surprise, Sherlock slightly responded instead of his usual “not now I’m busy.” He hadn’t looked up or really said anything, he just acknowledged the question with a hum.

“The woman on the phone, the crying woman.”

“Oh, she doesn’t matter, she’s just a hostage. No lead there.”

You were sitting with your head on the desk, starting to get bored. You knew that what Sherlock was saying was true, there was nothing you could do to help her now. You supposed that he could have been less blunt about his feelings, but at the same time you thought that maybe John was a little too sensitive.

John looked to you, probably to see your reaction to what your boyfriend was saying, “For god’s sake, I wasn’t thinking about leads.”

“You’re not going to be much use to her.”

You heard the computer beeping signaling that no match was found. _This is gonna take a while_ , you thought.

“Are they trying to trace it, trace the call?”

“Bomber’s too smart for that, pass me my phone.”

John sighed, “Where is it?”

“Jacket.”

You stood up and stretched, “I’ll get it John.”

You made your way over to Sherlock and pressed your lips to his cheek as you reached into his jacket pocket and dug out his phone.

You handed it to John as you walked by, announcing that you were going to go get some coffee and snacks, “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

When you got out to the hall, you pulled out your phone and sent a message to Mycroft.

 _I don’t know if you heard already, but our bomber is keeping Sherlock busy. I have a few theories about how it is, but I hope I’m wrong. If things go south I’m going to tell him that we’ve been working behind the scenes. I need to keep him safe_.

You expected to Mycroft to call you after that, he usually did if he felt the conversation would just be easier over the phone. When you left the hospital to go to the coffee shop around the corner, you got a text from him. 

_Of course, just don’t do anything too soon. He may not react the way you want. Oh, and how is the West case coming along? Sherlock appears to be ignoring me._

_Mycroft Holmes_

Part of you knew he was probably right, if Sherlock found out you were working with his brother to protect him, he might lose his trust in you. You weren’t ready for that. Ignoring the text, you put your hands in your coat pockets and continued to the shop.

When you got back, you set the bag with muffins and donuts down on the table before passing out the cups of coffee.

“…. So, child with big feet gets… Oh!”

You watched as Sherlock’s face morphed in realization before looking to John. He shrugged his shoulders and followed Sherlock’s line of sight, “What?”

Sherlock whispered, “Carl Powers,” as though that was going to explain everything.

“Who’s that, Sherlock?” you questioned from beside him.

“Carl Powers.”

John was getting impatient, “What is it?”

Sherlock was still looking at nothing off in the distance, “It’s where I began.”

“You mean like, your first case?” you were confused now, why would the bomber know anything about Sherlock back then?

Sherlock stood up and grabbed his coat before rushing out the door. You followed, giving John a here we go look while gathering the things you’d just brought in.

The three of you piled into a cab and headed back to the apartment. You were sitting across from Sherlock with John to his right and it wasn’t until you were halfway there that Sherlock decided to explain everything, “1989, a young kid, champion swimmer, came up from Brighton for a school sports tournament, drowned in the pool. Tragic accident. You wouldn’t remember it. Why should you?”

Sherlock showed his phone to you and John who confirmed, “But you remember.”

“Yes.”

You looked at Sherlock, his eyes were looking somewhere far away, “Was there something off about it?”

His eyes focused on you, “Nobody thought so, nobody except me. I was only a kid myself. I read about it in the papers.”

John piped up, “You started young, didn’t you?”

“The boy, Carl Powers, had some kind of fit in the water, but by the time they got him out, it was too late. There was something wrong somewhere. I couldn’t get it out of my head.”

“What?”

“His shoes.”

“Let me guess, they weren’t there?” you questioned.

Sherlock smiled, no doubt impressed with you, “No, they weren’t. I made a fuss. I tried to get the police interested but nobody seemed to think it was important. He’d left all the rest of his clothes in the locker. But there was no sign of his shoes,” Sherlock reached down between the two of you and picked up the bag with the boy’s sneakers in them, “until now.”

It was getting dark outside, and there were only a few hours left. You were sitting at the side table in the kitchen, reading over the files on Moriarty. You were careful not to make any noise because Sherlock was sitting at the main table, all of his work spread out in front of him.

The glass divider that separated the kitchen from the living room was closed, signaling that Sherlock wanted to be left alone. The only reason he let you stay with him is because he knew you wouldn’t bother him and maybe because your company kept him sane.

Reading over one interview in particular, you were thrown back to that day. You were reliving the moments Mycroft had you in the room with Moriarty, listening to him tell you about your life.

_You’d gotten up to leave but stopped beside him when he whispered, “I know what your weakness is.” You looked down at him and he motioned with his head for you to come closer to him. Bending down, your face was only a few inches from his. He turned into you and whispered even lower than before, “Sherlock Holmes.” You’d inhaled sharply, deciding it was time to leave. Before you could though, Moriarty licked one broad stripe up the side of your face and laughed as you exited the room._

You were pulled back to reality as the divider slid open, John stepping through, “Can I help? I want to help, there’s only five hours left.”

You closed your laptop and sat back, running a hand down the side of your face, unconsciously rubbing off the place Moriarty had violated.

You looked up again as John’s phone beeped, “It’s your brother, he’s texting me now. How does he know my number?” John asked, looking to you.

You shrugged your shoulders and turned to look at Sherlock who finally spoke, “Must be a root canal.”

John stepped closer, “Look, he did say… national importance.”

Sherlock laughed to himself, “How quaint.”

“What is?”

“You are. Queen and country.”

“You can’t just ignore it.”

“I’m not ignoring it… Putting my best man onto it right now.”

You smiled to yourself, knowing what that meant. You wished though that Sherlock was taking it all more seriously. You understood however that he needed to focus on the Carl Power’s case for the sake of the woman, but you still wanted him to pay a little bit of attention to the files.

Getting up to get yourself a drink, you decided that maybe John would be able to handle the case on his own… assuming you weren’t dragged into it.

“Right, good,” John said while clearing his throat, “Who’s that?”

You looked back at John and smiled. He looked back and forth between you and Sherlock, not understanding that he was the best man for the job.

Sherlock went back to studying the papers in front of him, ignoring John’s questioning glares.

“Me?” John asked you.

You shook your head yes and walked towards him, leading him out of the kitchen and shutting the divider behind you.

“It has to be you, John. Mycroft will know that Sherlock isn’t working on this if I go. I’m looking into it though, I know that the plans haven’t left the country yet, we would’ve been alerted. I think that whoever killed West took the memory stick. I just haven’t figured out who yet.”

“Killed him?”

You smiled, “Yes, remember, this wouldn’t be a case if he just killed himself. Listen John, when you get to the office, ask whatever questions you think are necessary. I can probably get us the answers within seconds, but as far as Mycroft knows, I have nothing to do with this. He keeps dumping other cases on me.”

John sighed, “Right, okay. Just, don’t do anything I wouldn’t do while I’m gone.”

You put your hand over your heart acting offended, “I would never,” he shot you a look and you laughed, “besides, we’ve only got a few hours to solve the Carl Powers case. There’s no time.”

John turned to leave and you went back into the kitchen to sit with Sherlock, this time intent on helping him.

You sat down at the table beside Sherlock and began to look over the news reports that he had spread out. Sherlock sighed and got up to sit at the smaller table you were at moments before to examine the particles under the microscope.

After a few hours, Mrs. Hudson brought the two of you tea and John had returned home.

“Poison!” Sherlock breathed.

Mrs. Hudson looked to you then back to Sherlock, “What are you going on about?”

He slammed his hands down on the table exclaiming, “Clostridium botulinum,” Mrs. Hudson ran out of the room and Sherlock turned to you, “It’s one of the deadliest poisons on the planet. Carl Powers.”

You stood up and walked over to Sherlock, pulling the microscope towards you so you could look through.

John stepped forward, “Oh, wait. Are you saying he was murdered?”

You saw the bacteria and pulled back, to look at Sherlock, “wow.”

Sherlock nodded then got up and headed over to the shoelaces that were hanging above the table, “Remember the shoelaces? The boy suffered from eczema. It’d be the easiest thing in the world to introduce the poison into his medication. Two hours later, he comes up to London, the poison takes effect, paralyzes the muscles and he drowns.”

Sherlock was pacing around the table as he spoke, finally coming to a stop beside you.

John looked confused and he walked over to where the two of you were standing in front of the table asking, “But how come the autopsy didn’t pick that up?”

You spoke up, “Because they weren’t looking for it, they would have had to have been in order to see it.”

Sherlock bent down and began typing a post into his laptop as he spoke, “There are still tiny traces of it left inside the trainers from where he’d put the cream on his feet,” He pressed send on his post and continued, “That’s why they had to go.”

“So how do we let the bomber know?”

“Get his attention. Stop the clock.”

John was beside you reading the post while stating, “The killer kept the shoes all these years.”

“Yes, meaning…” Sherlock said, looking to you.

“He’s our bomber,” you and John said simultaneously.

The pink phone rang then, and the woman from before spoke, saying she could be retrieved.

Hearing her location, you called Lestrade and told him Sherlock figured it out and that they could go and get her.

The three of you didn’t go, you’d stayed and decided to catch a breath, despite Sherlock arguing saying he should be there.

The next morning, you’d head over to Scotland Yard to hear what happened.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you all had a nice holiday :)
> 
> Short chapter, I've been busy
> 
>  
> 
> Oh! Only a few days until Sherlock comes back on. Super excited. (I can't believe the last time it was actually on (obviously not counting The Abominable Bride) I was about to graduate high school. Now series 4 is about to air and I'm about to graduate college).  
> Can't wait to see the finale in theaters!

It wasn’t until the third case that things started to come together for you. Upon seeing the body of Connie Prince laying on the slab in the morgue, you noticed a slip up.

She had obvious pricks and bruises on her forehead showing she had received Botox recently. 

You knew that Sherlock had seen it too, but it was too easy. If that was the cause of death, the case would have been solved in under an hour, then the bomber would have wanted all of the cases solved that quickly.

Sherlock turned to leave the morgue but Lestrade stopped him, “Why is he doing this, the bomber? If this woman’s death was suspicious, why point it up?”

“Good Samaritan,” Sherlock joked.

“Who press-gangs suicide bombers?" Lestrade pressed.

“Bad Samaritan.”

“I’m… I’m serious, Sherlock. Listen, I’m cutting you slack here, I’m trusting you, but out there somewhere, some poor bastard’s covered in Semtex and just waiting for you to solve the puzzle. So just tell me, what are we dealing with?”

You watched as Sherlock smiled, obviously intrigued with the game he was in the middle of, “something new.”

Sherlock turned to leave and you followed throwing over your shoulder, “Come on Greg, he’s got an idea which means we’re heading back to our place. You’re already in deep so let’s go.”

He sighed before following.

**

Back at the apartment, you were sitting on the table in front of the couch with Lestrade beside you as Sherlock paced, “Connection, connection, connection. There must be a connection. Carl Powers, killed twenty years ago. The bomber knew him, admitted that he knew him. The bomber’s iphone was in the stationary from the Czech Republic. The first hostage from Cornwall, the second from London, the third from Yorkshire, judging by her accent. What’s he doing? Working his way around the world, showing off?”

The phone rang then and you watched as Sherlock answered it, putting it on speaker, “you’re enjoying this, aren’t you? Joining the… dots. Three hours. Boom… boom.”

Sherlock looked to you but you looked away, you knew he had figured it out when you had. Three hours left should have been plenty of time for him to say he figured it out; you couldn’t understand why he wasn’t.

Mrs. Hudson came upstairs then, tea in hand, and placed it down on the table beside you. She stood beside Lestrade in front of the wall and talked about how much she liked Connie Prince. 

You weren’t paying much attention to her, and you felt bad that Lestrade got roped into listening to her banter on about her colors.

You were more interested in the phone call Sherlock was currently on. You couldn’t figure out who he was talking to just from his responses, but whoever it was, he was happy with the information they’d given him.

When he hung up, he announced he was on the phone with the home secretary office and explained they owed him a favor. You passed Sherlock his laptop as you got up off the table to stand beside him.

The four of you watched a bit of an episode of Connie’s show and listened to Mrs. Hudson go on about her again. You were starting to get annoyed, not with her per say, but with Sherlock and his charade.

When the video stopped, you turned to Mrs. Hudson, “Thanks for the tea Mrs. Hudson, but if you don’t mind we have to get back to this. Sorry to rush you out, but this is important.”

She looked hurt, but understanding, “Of course, see you in a bit dear.”

She turned to leave and you shut the door behind her. Sighing, you went and plopped down in Sherlock’s chair.

Lestrade watched you and eyed Sherlock suspiciously, wondering what had happened between the two of you. Sherlock turned to look at you and when you didn’t look up, he turned back to the wall to examine it some more. 

His phone rang and he answered it with, “John.”

You looked over at them, wondering what John could have found at the brother’s house, but not getting any information because Sherlock didn’t put the phone on speaker.

Sherlock muttered, “I’ll remember,” before listening to whatever John was saying then hanging up the phone.

He turned to address Lestrade, but said it loud enough for you to hear clearly, “John’s on to something, I’m going to meet him there. Gavin you can go back to doing whatever it is you do,” he turned to you, “Y/N, coming?”

“No.”

“No?”

“It’s Greg, and I’ll just be going then,” Lestrade said as he turned to leave.

You smiled at him then turned your attention back to Sherlock.

“No, I’m not going. I’m gonna stay here, work on the case for Mycroft, since you’re not.”

“That’s not important now, Y/N. We’ve got less than three hours to solve this case.”

“Yes I know, but that isn’t going to be a problem, is it?" You sighed, getting up to walk over to get Sherlock’s coat, “You don’t need me for this, I’ll be right here when you get back,” you helped him into his coat and he turned to face you, “just, be careful, okay?”

He smiled down at you while putting his hands around your waist and pulling you into him, “I always am,” he said as he kissed you.

You went to pull away, but he pulled you back into him and kissed you longer and harder.

You pulled back laughing, putting your hands on his chest, “Okay, hotshot, go. John needs you.”

He opened the door and made to leave but you quick grabbed his arm and pulled him back to you, kissing him once more.

“Bye, Sherlock.”

A little over an hour and a half later, Sherlock called you and told you to meet him at Scotland Yard, that he’d solved the case.

You’d gotten there a little before John and Sherlock did, so you took the time to talk to Lestrade. The two of you were working to see if you could find any patterns with the cases or the hostages, but there weren’t any; it all appeared to be random.

“Raoul de Santos is your killer, Kenny Prince’s houseboy,” Sherlock announced as he entered the precinct, “Second autopsy shows it wasn’t tetanus that poisoned Connie Prince, it was botulinum toxin. We’ve been here before. Carl Powers. Tut-tut. Our bomber’s repeated himself.”

You leaned against the desk you were standing at with Lestrade, waiting for the boys to make their way over to you.

Lestrade spoke up, “So how’d he do it?”

“Botox injection.”

“Botox?” Lestrade questioned.

“Botox is a diluted form of botulinum. Among other things, Raoul de Santos was employed to give Connie her regular facial injections. My contact at the home office gave me the complete records of Raoul’s internet purchases. He’s been bulk ordering Botox for months. Bided his time, then upped the strength to a fatal dose.”

“Are you sure about this?”

“I’m sure.”

Lestrade took the file, “Alright, my office.”

Sherlock made to follow, but John stopped him, “Hey, Sherlock, how long?”

“What?”

“How long have you known?”

“Well, this one was quite simple actually, Y/N figured it out when I did. And like I said, the bomber repeated himself. That was a mistake.”

John stopped Sherlock who went to pass him again, “Yeah, but Sherlock, the hostage, the old woman, she’s been there all this time!” John turned to face you, “Hang on, you knew? Why didn’t you say anything?”

You stood from your place at the desk, “Because, it wasn’t for me to figure out. Sherlock has to do these himself, the bomber designed all of this for him. If I had said anything, who knows what would have happened. And trust me, I’m not happy that it took this long for him to ‘figure it out’ either.”

You pushed passed the two of them and made your way into Lestrade’s office.

“I knew I could save her. I also knew that the bomber had given us twelve hours. I solved the case quickly, that gave me time to get on with other things. Don’t you see? We’re one up on him.”

Sherlock followed you into the office and when John came to grips with the situation, he followed too.

You stood beside Sherlock, watching as he typed the solution to the case into the computer.

The phone rang almost immediately, and Sherlock answered placing the phone to his ear, “Hello? ... Tell us where you are, address… No, no, no! Tell me nothing about him, nothing… Hello?”

Lestrade leaned forward, “Sherlock?”

“What’s happened?” John questioned.

Sherlock slowly pulled the phone away from his ear, he looked defeated. You could hear the dial tone and you realized what had happened.

Your breathing became heavier and you felt like you were going to cry. You took the phone out of Sherlock’s hand and placed it on his laptop then turned back and held onto his hand. You needed the comfort and you knew he probably did too.

The four of you sat in silence, taking in what happened.

**

The next morning, you were sitting on Sherlock’s lap watching the news with John. It was showing images of the apartment block where the old lady must have lived. There was smoke coming from the side of the building and the headline read ’12 dead in gas explosion.’

“Whole block of flats,” John muttered, shaking his head in disappointment, “he certainly gets about.”

Sherlock had his left hand pressed to his mouth, the other resting across your lap.

He sighed, “Well, obviously I lost that round. Although technically I did solve the case.”

He muted the TV and you searched Sherlock’s eyes.

Avoiding your gaze, he said, “He killed the old lady because she started to describe him. Just once, he put himself in the firing line.”

“What do you mean?” John questioned from beside you.

“Well, usually, he must stay above it all. He organizes these things, but no one ever has direct contact.”

“What, like the Connie Prince murder, he arranged that? So people come to him wanting their crimes fixed up like booking a holiday?”

“Novel.”

Sherlock was watching the phone, expecting a call. You picked it up and put it on your lap next to his hand, which you took into your own. You began to play with his fingers as you stayed silent, thoughts running rampant through your mind.

Everything that had happened the past two days, everything that was just said, confirmed it for you. You were a hundred percent sure this was Moriarty, and you were uncomfortable with it all. You didn’t want to show the boys that, so you settled on keeping to yourself.

“Taking his time this time,” Sherlock said while looking at the phone.

John cleared his throat, turning back to the TV, “anything on the Carl Powers case?”

“Nothing. All the living classmates check out spotless, no connection.”

“Maybe the killer was older than Carl?”

“Or younger,” you whispered.

“The thought had occurred.”

John continues, “So why is he doing this, then? Playing this game with you. Do you think he wants to be caught?”

Sherlock pulled his hand from yours and steepled them under his chin, “I think he wants to be distracted.”

“Oh,” John said while getting up, “I hope you’ll be very happy together.”

You watched John as he entered the kitchen, Sherlock just catching what he said, “Sorry, what?”

“There are lives at stake, Sherlock. Actual human lives! Just so I know, do you care about that at all?”

“Will caring about them help save them?”

“Nope.”

“Then I’ll continue not to make that mistake.”

“And you find that easy, do you?”

“Yes, very. Is that news to you?”

“No, no.” John defended.

As you listened, you wondered what made you so special. What made Sherlock care about you, when he couldn’t seem to care about anyone else? You knew he cared about John, but you thought it was different, that there were different types of caring.

Sherlock spoke again, “I’ve disappointed you.”

“That’s good, that’s a good deduction, yeah,” John said sarcastically.

Sherlock sighed, “Don’t make people into heroes, John. Heroes don’t exist, and if they did, I wouldn’t be one of them.”

You looked at Sherlock, now you were the one who was disappointed. He gave himself such little credit and it bothered you.

Before you could say anything though, the phone beeped on your lap. You both looked down at it and Sherlock whispered, “Excellent” before picking it up and looking at it.

Two pips played and you pulled his hand down so you could see the image displayed on the phone.

“A view of the Thames. South Bank, somewhere between Southwark Bridge and Waterloo. You check the papers, I’ll look online.”

As Sherlock dug in his coat pocket for his own phone, you stood up and walked over to John. Sherlock noticed that John was irritated, and watched as you put a hand over his.

Sherlock spoke up from behind you, “Oh, you’re angry with me, so you won’t help. Not much cop, this caring lark.”

John sighed before going to the couch and sitting down. You watched as John went through the papers and Sherlock searched his phone.

Your own phone rang just moments later and you walked over to where John was sitting, picking your phone up off the table before placing it to your ear, “Hello?”

“ _As much as I know how much you like helping solve those minor cases, you’re needed here, Y/N_.”

You could feel Sherlock’s eyes on you as you listened to his brother speak.

“I’m in the middle of something, you sure you need me this second?”

 _“I wouldn’t have called if I didn’t_.”

You sighed, “Alright, just let me get ready then I’ll be right there,” you hung up the phone without another word.

You smiled at the boys before making your way to your shared room to change into your work clothes. You were standing in front of the closet trying to decide what to put on when you heard the door open.

“What did Mycroft want?”

“I just need to go in to do some work, that’s all. He didn’t specify, so it can’t be too important,” you lied.

You settled on a basic dress then began to strip out of your clothes. With your back to Sherlock you pulled your shirt over your head before sliding your jeans down your legs.

“What are you doing?” Sherlock whispered.

You turned to face him, “I told you, I have to go to work, Mycroft called.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

You smiled and walked over to him, “I’m changing… to go to work,” you watched as his eyes trailed up and down your body, “You don’t have to look so afraid you know. Soon or later you’ll be seeing more of this, except, I’ll be completely naked.”

His eyes were on your lips as you spoke, his own lips parted slightly. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him down to you, “and then you’ll be allowed to touch.”

Sherlock let out the breath he was holding and pressed his lips against yours. The kiss deepened, becoming more desperate by the second. His arms wrapped around you, one of his hands trailing down your back. You held onto the back of his neck while your other hand wound into his curls, tugging lightly.

You pulled back breathing heavily, “As much as I would love for this to continue, I need to go.”

Stepping away, you picked up your dress and slid it over your head. Sherlock didn’t take his eyes off of you as you flattened the dress against your stomach and pinned your hair out of your face.

You grabbed his hand, pulling him with you back down the hall and into the living room.

“I’ll be back soon, hopefully,” you told both John and Sherlock, who was standing with your coat open for you to put on.

You pulled a pair of heels on then let Sherlock help you into your coat. Pulling your hair out from under your collar, you pulled Sherlock down to kiss you, “Don’t dick around with the case this time.”

You heard John laugh from behind you before making your way out the door. When you got outside, you saw a car waiting for you and you stepped inside.

“Good morning, Anthea,” you smiled at her.

“Good morning,” she looked at you from over her phone.

“I wasn’t expecting you to have to get me.”

“Yes, well, Mycroft wanted to make sure you’d come.”

You laughed, “It’s not like I’ve ever evaded him before.”

Anthea laughed with you before turning back to her phone. You stared out the window enjoying the silence until you pulled up to the office.

Stepping out of the car, Anthea beside you, you made your way into the building.

“You look beautiful today, special occasion?”

You looked over your shoulder, Anthea giving you her full attention.

“Does that mean I look bad any other day?” you joked.

“No, it’s just that you’re glowing, and you’re wearing a dress that’s borderline skimpy, trying to get someone’s attention?”

You’d arrived at Mycroft’s office and the door swung open before you could knock.

“It’s probably an attempt to get my brother’s attention.”

“Hello, Mycroft. Lovely to see you, seeing as I wasn’t going to for at least a few more days,” you stepped passed him into the office, “oh, and by the way, I don’t need a dress to get his attention. Didn’t you hear? We’re together now.”

Mycroft eyed you suspiciously and you smiled, “It’s been a few days, you’re getting slow.”

You winked at Anthea who chuckled quietly as she shut the door.

“So, what was so urgent that you needed me here?”

“The missile plans.”

You sighed, “Mycroft, John’s working on it. Sherlock couldn’t care less honestly; he’s too preoccupied with Moriarty.”

“Moriarty?”

“Yes, he’s the bomber. The haphazard pattern, the obsession with Sherlock, it has to be him. He’s on his last case before the end of it. I wanted to be there to make sure nothing happened, but here I am.”

Mycroft moved to lean against his desk, next to where you were sitting, “We need to get the plans back, Y/N, if Moriarty-”

“You know that if Moriarty wanted them, he’d have them by now. He doesn’t need the flash drive. You know as well as I do that if he was to get the drive, he’d play it up. It’s all a game.”

“You don’t really think that he’ll go after Sherlock, do you?”

“If he doesn’t, Sherlock will find him. He’s intrigued, he’ll want to meet the man behind all of this.”

Mycroft studied you for a moment, “Okay.”

You sighed, “I’ll stay here for a little, I’ll put together what I can about West and send it to John. Within the next few hours he’ll have questioned the fiancée and examined the tracks. Sherlock is bound to follow, assuming he solves the case from Moriarty.”

“Thank you,” Mycroft said.

“I’m not doing it for you, I just want to get back to Sherlock.”

You turned to leave, wanting to do the work in your own office.

Your hand was on the door handle but Mycroft’s voice stopped you, “Strange thing, love, isn’t it?”

Ignoring him, you continued to leave. You knew that your anger would soon fade, but for now you just wanted it all over with.

Several hours later, you gathered your things and got ready to leave. You decided to walk a few blocks before catching a cab, wanting some fresh air to clear your head.

You turned a corner then suddenly there was a searing pain on the back of your head. You reached back to touch the spot, feeling wet, and pulled your hand back to look at it. Your fingers were covered in blood.

Before you could react to what happened, you were pulled against a strong body, a rag that smelled of chemicals held over your face. You struggled against your attacker, but your body fell limp in his grasp.

When you came to, you smelled chlorine. You looked around, you were in a hall lined with trophy cases.

 _This looks like a school_ , you thought to yourself.

“Ah, sleeping beauty is finally awake, and without a kiss from prince charming.”

The voice made your skin crawl. From around the corner, a figure approached you, it took a few moments for your eyes to focus.

You swallowed, trying to get your voice, “What are you doing here Moriarty, where are we?”

“She speaks! You’ll find out soon enough. Your little boyfriend, Sherlock, he’ll be here soon too.”

You froze, you wanted to believe Sherlock wouldn’t be that stupid, but just a few hours before you confidently told Mycroft that if Moriarty didn’t seek out Sherlock, Sherlock would find him.

“What makes you think he’ll come?"

He pulled out his phone as he walked closer to you, showing the screen, “Because, beautiful, he’s the one who set up this little date.”

You held your breath, choosing your words carefully, “If he does come, what’s going to stop me from warning him?”

He reached out and touched your face, causing you to flinch away. You shouldn’t have done that. He grabbed your chin roughly and lowered his face to yours. You watched as he opened another app on his phone before showing it to you.

You saw John, wrapped in Semtex, with three red dots on him.

“If you make one sound without my say so, John will die.”

You felt brave, “If you kill him, we’ll all die.”

“And you won’t be able to save John or your beloved Sherlock.”

You heard a door open in the distance and Moriarty clasped his hand over your mouth, “Shh, it’s show time.”

You listened, hoping it wasn’t Sherlock. When you heard him talk though, you felt like you were going to cry, “Brought you a little, getting to know you present. That’s what it’s all been for, isn’t it? … All your little puzzles, making me dance. All to distract me from this.”

“Go, now,” Moriarty muttered and you looked up to him, questioning.

You heard another door open before Moriarty spoke again, “Evening. This is a turn up, isn’t it, Sherlock?”

With each pause you could hear John repeating the words. It was then you noticed the wire in Moriarty’s ear, feeding to the one John had to have been wearing.

You heard Sherlock, “John, what the hell?”

“Bet you never saw this coming,” Moriarty laughed, John’s voice echoing moments later.

“Open your jacket, show him… What would you like me to make him say next? Gottle o’ gear, gottle o’ gear, gottle o’ gear.”

“Stop” you whispered.

Sherlock’s voice came shortly after, “Stop it.”

Moriarty pulled you to your feet while speaking into the wire again, “Nice touch, this. The pool, where little Carl died. I stopped him. I can stop John Watson, too; stop his heart.”

You could hear the panic and frustration in Sherlock’s voice, “who are you?”

Moriarty took the piece from his ear and threw it to the ground, “Remember, don’t step out of line,” he whispered to you before opening the door.

He stuck his head out to address Sherlock personally for the first time, “I gave you my number, I thought you might call.”

You took a deep breath as Moriarty grabbed on to you, pulling you through the door with him. He pushed you ahead of him and you stumbled forward, your heels echoing on the wet tile. When you caught your balance, you stood up straight, chancing a look at Sherlock.

He didn’t seem to understand, it looked like he thought you were working with Moriarty. You looked away, remembering what Moriarty had told you would happen if you did anything.

You heard Moriarty walking casually behind you, “Is that a British Army Browning L9A1 in your pocket, or are you just pleased to see me?” he mocked.

“Both,” Sherlock replied simply while pulling a gun from his back waistband.

He aimed it at Moriarty, who was unfazed, “Jim Moriarty. Hi.”

His sing song voice irritated you to the core, he was already enjoying this. Sherlock said nothing, he just watched, you were still afraid to look at him.

Moriarty continued, “Jim? Jim from the hospital?” you held your breath as Moriarty got closer to you, “Oh, did I really make such a fleeting impression? But then, I suppose, that was rather the point.”

He came to a stop beside you and looked at you with a smile. You watched as Sherlock looked to John, no doubt seeing the sniper lasers pointed at his chest.

Moriarty gave you a look and you knew to follow him as he spoke again, “Don’t be silly, someone else is holding the rifle. I don’t like getting my hands dirty.”

You kept your head down as you walked behind him, coming to a stop at his side.

Sherlock still had his gun aimed at Moriarty, but you didn’t know how good of a shot he was from this distance, he couldn’t even hit the spray painted face on the wall in the apartment.

Moriarty’s voice pulled you from your thoughts, “I’ve given you a glimpse, Sherlock, just a _teensy_ glimpse of what I’ve got going on out there in the big bad world. I’m a specialist, you see. Like you.”

Sherlock finally spoke and you watched him as he did, “Dear Jim, please will you fix it for me, to get rid of my lover’s nasty sister? Dear Jim, please will you fix it for me to disappear to South America?”

Moriarty took a few more steps and you followed, “Just so.”

“Consulting criminal, brilliant.”

“Isn’t it? No one ever gets to me,” he paused, looking to you before turning back to Sherlock, “and no one ever will.”

Sherlock cocked the gun in his hand, eyeing you, “I did.”

“You’ve come the closest. Now you’re in my way.”

“Thank you.”

“Didn’t mean it as a compliment.”

“Yes you did.”

“Yeah, okay, I did,” Moriarty shrugged his shoulders and stepped forward again, “But the flirting’s over Sherlock, daddy’s had enough now. I’ve shown you what I can do. I cut loose all those people, all those little problems, even thirty million quid, just to get you to come out and play. So take this as a friendly warning… my dear… back off.”

Sherlock hadn’t said anything, he just kept his arms steady, aiming the gun. 

Moriarty was looking at you, “Although, I have loved this, this little game of ours. Playing Jim from IT, playing gay. Did you like the little touch with the underwear?”

Sherlock wasn’t fazed, “People have died.”

“That’s what people do!” Moriarty yelled.

You jumped slightly, afraid of what was going to happen next. Moriarty noticed and he turned to you, “I’m sorry my dear, did I scare you?”

When you didn’t answer, he grabbed your face, “you can answer, love.”

“No.”

He laughed, “good” then pressed his lips to yours.

You were too scared to move so you just let it happen. When Moriarty pulled away and turned back to Sherlock, you looked up and saw the pain etched across his face; you wished you could tell him what was happening.

“I will stop you,” Sherlock said firmly.

“No, you won’t.”

Sherlock ignored Moriarty, addressing John. His eyes went back and forth between you and John, so you took his words as being for you too, “Are you alright?”

Moriarty took a few steps forward, stopping behind John, “You can talk, Johnny boy. Go ahead.”

You saw John nod and when Sherlock looked back to you, all you did was blink.

Sherlock took his left hand off the gun and held it out. You saw the little black flash drive that had the plans on it.

“Take it.”

“Hmm? Oh…” Moriarty stepped forward, taking the drive from Sherlock, “That? The missile plans.”

You heard him kiss the drive, and wondered what he’d do next.

“Boring!” he sang, “I could’ve gotten them anywhere,” you watched as he threw the drive into the pool and as John ran forward, grabbing ahold of Moriarty from behind.

“John!” you yelled.

“Sherlock run!” John yelled to Sherlock, who had taken a step back.

Moriarty started laughing and your stomach was in knots.

“Good! Very good.”

“If your sniper pulls that trigger, Mr. Moriarty, then we both go up.”

John’s breathing was ragged, the adrenaline pumping through his veins.

Moriarty wasn’t fazed at all, “Isn’t he sweet? I can see why you like having him around. But then, people do get so sentimental about their pets,” you saw John struggling to keep a good grip on Moriarty, “They’re so touchingly loyal. But oops! You’ve rather shown your hand there, Dr. Watson.”

You watched as a red dot appeared on Sherlock’s head and exhaled slowly.

Sherlock shook his head no and he released Moriarty.

“Gotcha,” he sang as he started to laugh.

When the moment was over, Moriarty fixed his suit and gestured to himself, “Westwood. Do you know what happens if you don’t leave me alone, Sherlock? Do you?”

“Oh, let me guess. I get killed.”

“Kill you? Mmm, no. Don’t be obvious. I mean, I’m gonna kill you anyway someday. I don’t want to rush it, though. I’m saving it up for something special. No, no, no, no, no. If you don’t stop prying, I’ll _burn_ you. I will burn the _heart_ out of you.”

“I have been reliably informed that I don’t have one.”

You could hear the smile in Moriarty’s voice, “But we both know that’s not quite true,” he looked over his shoulder to you, “Well, I’d better be off,” Moriarty looked around the pool before turning back to Sherlock, “Well, so nice to have had a proper chat.”

“What if I was to shoot you now? Right now?”

“Then you could cherish the look of surprise on my face. ‘Cause I’d be surprised Sherlock, really, I would. And just a teensy bit…. _Disappointed_. And of course, you wouldn’t be able to cherish it for very long. Ciao, Sherlock Holmes.”

You watched as Moriarty left out the side door next to John.

With his gun still pointed at Moriarty, Sherlock said, “Catch you… later.”

You heard the door open and Moriarty sing, “No you won’t!” before it shut again.

Sherlock placed the gun on the ground and quickly went to work getting John out of the jacket riddled with bombs.

You helped, making sure it was undone before trying to pull it off of John’s arms.

“Alright? Are you alright?” Sherlock asked John frantically.

John sighed, “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. I’m fine. Sherlock… Sherlock!”

Sherlock slid the jacket away from the three of you before picking the gun up and checking to make sure Moriarty was gone.

Sherlock walked passed you, rubbing the gun on the back of his head, “Are you okay?” John asked.

You were still too afraid to talk; you just didn’t know what to say. Sherlock had to have thought you were working with Moriarty, then the kiss…

“Me? Yeah, fine. I’m fine. Fine,” he looked at you then back to John before pacing, “that, uh… thing that you… that you did. That, um… you offered to do… that was, um… good.”

John swallowed thickly and you wrapped your arms around yourself, “I’m glad no one saw that.”

“Hmm?”

“You, ripping my clothes off in a darkened swimming pool, people might talk.”

“You would do little else,” Sherlock joked.

“Sherlock,” you finally spoke.

He turned to look at you, “Hmm?”

“That wasn’t what you think. Moriarty, he had someone knock me out and bring me here. He knows what I mean to you, he did it to get under your skin,” there were tears running down your face by the time you finished.

He pulled you into him, wrapping his arms around you, “It’s alright, Y/N,” he kissed the top of your head and you felt the cool metal of the gun pressed against your back.

You pulled away, wanting to get a look at him. Smiling, you looked at John, who was in the process of standing up. Suddenly, you saw the red dots forming on his chest. You took a step back, seeing them appear on you as well in all of the vital areas.

A door opened behind you, “Sorry, boys, and lady. I’m so changeable! It is a weakness with me, but to be fair to myself, it is my only weakness. You can’t be allowed to continue. You just can’t. I would try to convince you, but, everything I have to say has already crossed your mind.”

Sherlock looked at John then to you, you nodded. Sherlock gave you a small smile, “probably my answer has crossed yours,” then aimed the gun at Moriarty once again.

You grabbed Sherlock’s left hand and held it in yours as you watched him lower the gun to be level with the vest.

Moriarty’s face twisted in a smile; you knew he wasn’t afraid to die.

You gripped Sherlock’s hand tighter, prepared for whatever was going to happen next.

Next thing you knew though; you could hear the Bee Gee’s _Stayin’ Alive_ playing. The three of you looked around, your eyes locking with Sherlock’s before going back to Moriarty’s.

He rolled his eyes and let out a sigh, “Do you mind if I get that?”

Sherlock shook his head no, sarcastically saying, “Oh no, please. You’ve got the rest of your life.”

Moriarty took out his phone and answered, “Hello?” His face was morphed in disgust, “Yes, of course it is. What do you want?” He looked to Sherlock and mouthed “sorry.”

Spinning around, you could tell he was intent on listening to what the person on the other end had to say, “Say that again!” he yelled.

Sherlock looked at you, but you ignored him, you kept your eyes focused on the man in front of you.

“Say that again and know that if you’re lying to me, I will find you, and I will skin you. Wait.”

He pulled the phone away from his ear and stepped closer to the three of you; Sherlock tightened his grip on the gun, “Sorry, wrong day to die.”

“Oh. Did you get a better offer?”

Moriarty looked back down to his phone before turning to leave, “You’ll be hearing from me, Sherlock. Y/N, lovely seeing you again,” he began walking out the way he had come in with you, placing the phone back to his ear, “So if you have what you say you have, I will make you rich. If you don’t, I’ll make you into shoes.”

Moriarty snapped his fingers and the snipers aimed at you disappeared.

John sighed, “What happened there?”

Sherlock looked around, trying to make sense of what happened, “Someone changed his mind. The question is, who?”

You bent down, your hand on your heart.

Standing up right again, you moved to help John up, “Look, who the hell cares. Let’s just get out of here. I need a bath and a drink. Preferably at the same time.”

“I’m with you there,” John laughed.

You pulled him into a hug, “Sorry they grabbed you too, John… Let’s go home, I need to get the hell out of these shoes.”

The three of you made your way out of the school, Sherlock’s hand still tightly gripping John’s gun.

He wrapped an arm around you and held you close as the three of you made your way down the street to get a taxi back to Baker Street.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PS wrote this while watching The Sign of Three and I can't wait to get to write that scene :)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long to get up, didn't have time to write. But, since classes started this week, I have a little bit of time
> 
> Unedited... I'll do it eventually, I just wanted to get this up since it's been like, a month

It’s only been a few weeks since the incident with Moriarty. You felt obligated that night to tell Sherlock how you knew him, but you left out a few little details… like the extent at which Moriarty’s obsession went. You just told him that you were watching him and after proving his terrorist ties in other countries, Mycroft had you bring him in for interrogation.

The two of you had laid together that night, Sherlock calmly listening to you as you spoke. You had expected him to be angry, not even just about knowing Moriarty and keeping it from him, but about him kissing you. You supposed though that part of him knew that he did it to get under his skin and he couldn’t blame you for it; you weren’t a hundred percent sure though.

After that night, you’d gotten closer with Sherlock, he was more open in your relationship and you thought that maybe he was starting to trust you a little bit more.

Now, it was a little after nine in the morning and you were lying in bed beside him. Neither of you had clothes on, the events of the previous night evident by the disheveled look of your hair and the sheets hanging haphazardly off the bed.

Sherlock smiled as you rubbed the sleep from your eyes, wrapping his arm around you so that he could pull you into his chest.

“Good morning,” you mumbled sleepily.

“Morning.”

You pushed yourself up so you were resting on your elbows, your boobs pressed between your arms and barely hidden against the mattress. Wiping stray hairs from your face, Sherlock pulled your face down so he could kiss you.

You pulled back, peppering kisses all over his face, making it a point to miss his lips. You started to laugh as Sherlock began making faces, growing impatient with your teasing.

Finally, Sherlock wrapped one arm around you to hold you in place while he used his other to pull you on top of him.

His hold tightened around you as he pulled you down to actually kiss him. The kiss was heated and needy and your mind was racing with thoughts about how you couldn’t breathe correctly and how you hated being unable to move. Your heart began racing, your instincts kicking in to fight back to be released; be the dominant one.

Before you could though, Sherlock loosened his grip slightly so you were able to sit up a little.

Looking down at him, you scanned his face. His eyes were dilated, his lips parted slightly.

You leaned down and pressed a kiss just under his right eye, “There’s something about being with someone who’s famous.”

Sherlock pulled you back down and locked his lips with yours. You could feel him pressing against you and you started to grind against his lap. You’d reached between your bodies to hold him while you positioned yourself onto him, when Mrs. Hudson yelled, “You’ve got another one!”

You sighed, letting your head drop against Sherlock’s chest. You could hear John on the stairs then talking. You dramatically rolled yourself off of Sherlock, throwing your hand over your face to cover your eyes.

“We shall continue this later,” Sherlock said as he leaned forward and kissed your neck.

“Just let John handle it, he needs the practice, just stay here with me.”

There was a knock on the door and Sherlock stood up, wrapping the sheet around himself.

Opening the door, Sherlock was careful not to open it enough for John to poke his head through since you were still laying on the bed completely naked and uncovered.

“We’ve got a client,” John stated simply.

“Go away, John” you mumbled from the bed.

Ignoring you, John continued, “We can’t ignore this.”

Sherlock looked over to you before looking back to John, “Fine, five minutes. I am not getting dressed for this, Y/N, you stay here.”

“I was planning on it.”

Sherlock wrapped the sheet around himself tighter before leaving the room to meet with the client. You could hear them talking, barely making out the man’s story.

A few minutes later, you heard Sherlock’s voice getting closer to your room, “Right, well. John will go to the scene; I am going to stay here. Mrs. Hudson, get this man some tea. I just need to get my laptop and I’ll be in my room if anyone needs me. Just- don’t open the door.”

The door opened and Sherlock stepped through, making sure that the sheet was completely in the room before shutting the door again.

He picked the pillows and comforter up off the floor, placing them at the bottom of the bed before dropping the sheet from around his body and doing the same with it.

He kissed your shoulder, “John is going to investigate, I have my theories, but I want to be sure. No point in me leaving the flat for this.”

“Yeah I heard, you should still get dressed though, you’ll have to go back out there.”

“No point, John will video call me when he gets there, I don’t need to be dressed for that, the sheet will do. I am going to go and set up my laptop so that it is ready when John calls, I’ll be right back.”

You thought you should get up and get showered, but at the same time you didn’t want to. You were comfortable just staying in bed.

You’d hoped that the man would leave and John would just handle everything on his own so that Sherlock could actually come back to bed for the day, but you knew that wasn’t going to happen. That didn’t stop you from staying where you were though.

Sherlock was out arguing with someone on his laptop and you heard the doorbell ring followed by Sherlock yelling, “Shut up!”

You sighed, knowing that was your cue to get up, but you waited a few minutes longer; procrastination at its finest.

You sat up, brushing the hair from your face. You looked down at your body, running a hand down your chest and to your legs.

Suddenly, the door opened and a tall man in an expensive suit stepped through. You rushed to cover yourself, pulling the comforter up and holding it over your body, “Who the hell are you? And haven’t you ever heard of knocking?”

The man kept going, opening drawers and the closet to gather clothes for Sherlock. When he grabbed a pair of lace underwear and a matching bra along with a dress out of the closet and tossed it in your direction muttering, “get dressed Miss Y/N,” you lost your cool.

“I don’t know who the hell you are, but you can’t just barge in, see me naked, then touch my underwear.”

The man ignored you and repeated himself, “Get dressed and come out when you’re ready. This is important.”

You sighed, “whatever, get out.”

He left and you picked up the clothes he tossed at you. You slipped them on and ran a brush through your hair, making sure it looked presentable. You could hear Sherlock arguing in the other room, and you rushed to put some makeup on.

You stepped out and came to a stop beside Mrs. Hudson. The man you ‘knew’ stood in front of Sherlock, a pile of clothes in front of him.

Another man spoke, “Please, Mr. Holmes, where you’re going you’ll want to be dressed.”

Sherlock looked up at the man, no doubt deducing what he could about him, “I know exactly where I’m going.”

Standing up, Sherlock walked over to you, “Let’s go then.”

“Sherlock, what about your clothes?” you questioned, amusement lacing your voice.

He turned back to you and smiled before making his way out and down the stairs. One of the men behind you grabbed his stack of clothes along with his jacket before following you out to the black car that was parked in front your building.

**

You were sitting beside Sherlock on a couch inside a relatively small room for what you’d expected when you learned you were going to Buckingham Palace.

Sherlock had his sheet wrapped tightly around himself and he held the edges. You had your legs crossed, already bored with waiting, so you decided to go through your phone.

Out the corner of your eye, you saw John walking into the room, “Guess they kidnapped you too, huh, John?” you joked.

He shared a silent exchange with Sherlock, something they often do. Looking around, John cautiously walked into the room and sat down beside you.

He looked around you and examined Sherlock’s appearance, “Are you wearing any pants?”

“No.”

“Okay.”

The three of you burst into laughter, the situation actually dawning on you.

John continued, “At Buckingham Palace. Right. I am seriously fighting an impulse to steal an ashtray.”

You and Sherlock laughed some more and John cleared his throat, trying to gain his composure, “What are we doing here. Seriously, what?”

“I don’t know,” Sherlock replied.

“Here to see the Queen?”

Mycroft walked into the room then and Sherlock whispered, “Oh, apparently, yes.”

You barked out a laugh, chancing a look at Mycroft’s face, which caused you to laugh some more.

Standing up straight and rolling his eyes Mycroft scolded, “Just once can you behave like grownups?”

John spoke from beside you, “We solve crimes, I blog about it and he forgets his pants. I wouldn’t hold out too much hope.”

Gaining his composure, Sherlock spoke, “I was in the middle of a case Mycroft.”

“What, the hiker and the backfire? I glanced at the police report, a bit obvious, surely?”

“Transparent.”

You shifted, uncrossing your legs, “Regardless, Mycroft. You could’ve given us warning. I didn’t appreciate a stranger bursting into our bedroom while I was naked. And maybe Sherlock would be dressed then.”

John looked at you, his eyes wide; Sherlock huffed.

Mycroft cleared his throat, “Time to move on, then. We are in Buckingham Palace, at the very heart of the British nation. Sherlock Holmes, put your trousers on!”

“What for?”

“Your client.”

Standing up Sherlock interrogated, “And my client is?”

Another man walked in, “Illustrious, in the extreme. And remaining, I have to inform you, entirely anonymous. Mycroft.”

You watched as the two men shook hands, “Harry. May I just apologize for the state of my little brother?”

“A full-time occupation, I imagine. And this must be Dr. John Watson, formerly of the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers?”

John stepped forward, his hand outstretched, “Hello, yes.”

“My employer is a tremendous fan of your blog.”

“Your employer?”

“Particularly enjoyed the one about the aluminum crutch.”

“Thank you.”

Harry stepped forward, “Miss Y/N L/N, I have heard so much about you, I regret that we have yet to meet before this.”

You smiled at him from your seated position on the couch, only slightly regretting that you hadn’t stood up when he walked in.

Harry continued on to Sherlock, “And Mr. Holmes the younger, you look taller in your photographs.”

“I take the precaution of a good coat and a short friend. Mycroft, I don’t do anonymous clients. I’m used to mystery at one end of my cases, both ends is too much work. Good morning.”

You watched as Sherlock turned to leave, the sheet dragging behind him. Mycroft stepped on the sheet, causing it to almost fall completely to the floor, but Sherlock stopped it, holding it against his waist as he struggled to move. The muscles of his back rippled and you were reminded of what you were in the middle of before you were interrupted. You sighed quietly to yourself.

“This is a matter of national importance. Grow up!” Mycroft scolded.

“Get off my sheet!”

“Or what?”

“Or I’ll just walk away.”

“I’ll let you.”

You spoke up, “As much as I’d enjoy that, this isn’t the time or place.”

Sherlock enunciated his words, “Who is my client?”

“Take a look at where you’re standing and make a deduction. You are to be engaged by the highest in the land. Now for god’s sake! Put your clothes on!” Mycroft yelled.

Sherlock took a deep breath, obviously preparing to argue farther. You stood from your place on the couch and moved so you were standing beside Sherlock. He didn’t look at you or say anything, so you stepped closer and placed a hand on his back while peering around so you could see his face.

“Sherlock, the sooner you get dressed, the sooner we can get this over with and get back to where we were earlier.”

He glanced at you, still upset, but he finally gave in, “Fine,” he said through gritted teeth.

You walked back to the table and grabbed his clothes before walking back to Sherlock and handing them to him. When he took them, you went back to your place on the couch and eyed Mycroft expectantly.

“I’m not going to go through the whole case with you now Y/N, but something tells me you may not like it.”

You looked at John, confusion etched across your features, before you looked back to Mycroft, “Why… wouldn’t I like it? You know I’m not one to make things personal, Mycroft.”

He let out a dry laugh before taking a sip of his tea.

You were going to press the situation further, but Sherlock walked back into the room fully clothed with the folded sheet from your bed in his hands. He placed the sheet on the table as he plopped down on the couch beside you. John let out a laugh but quickly covered it up with a cough.

Mycroft refilled his cup and Harry’s as he spoke, “I’ll be mother.”

Sherlock, with his hand on your knee retorted, “And there is a whole childhood in a nutshell.”

Harry cleared his throat before speaking, “My employer has a problem.”

“A matter has come to light of an extremely delicate and potentially criminal nature and in this hour of need, dear brother, your name has arisen.”

“Why?” Sherlock wondered aloud, “We have a police force of sorts, even a marginally secret service. Why come to me?”

“People do come to you for help, don’t they, Mr. Holmes?” Listening to Harry speak you felt as though he and Mycroft were cornering you; you were quickly becoming less comfortable with the situation.

Sherlock didn’t seem fazed, he was holding his ground really well, “Not to date anyone with a navy.”

“This is a matter of the highest security and therefore of trust,” Mycroft added.

John spoke up for the first time since he was directly addressed, “You don’t trust your own secret service?”

“Naturally not. They all spy on people for money.”

“I do think we have a timetable,” Harry said to Mycroft.

“Yes, of course,” Mycroft muttered while reaching down to pick up a briefcase. Opening it he added, “What do you know about this woman?”

He handed Sherlock a stack of photos and Sherlock eagerly leaned forward in his seat, removing his hand from your knee, “nothing whatsoever.”

You looked over Sherlock’s shoulder to look at the photos. You felt your body run cold before immediately going hot as you flushed with anger.

You looked at Mycroft, expecting him to look at you. _Irene Adler. So this is what he meant about me not liking it._

Mycroft ignored your glares and continued speaking, “Then you should be paying more attention. She’s been at the center of two political scandals in the last year and recently ended the marriage of a prominent novelist, by having an affair with both participants separately.”

“You know I don’t concern myself with trivia. Who is she?”

Mycroft finally looked at you, “Irene Adler, professionally known as The Woman.”

John looked between you and Mycroft, obviously aware of the tension, “Professionally?”

“There are many names for what she does, she prefers “dominatrix.””

Sherlock continued looking at the photos, “dominatrix,” he repeated.

Mycroft’s gaze went back to Sherlock, “Don’t be alarmed. It’s to do with sex.”

“Sex doesn’t alarm me,” Sherlock defended.

Mycroft snickered, “How would you know?”

There was an uncomfortable silence and Mycroft turned back to you, “Unless…?”

“That’s none of your damn business, Mycroft. Now cut the crap. What are we doing here?” Your anger was increasing.

“She provides, shall we say, recreational scolding for those who enjoy that sort of thing and are prepared to pay for it. These are all from her website.”

He pulled a manila folder from the briefcase and handed it to Sherlock who eagerly opened it to look at the photos inside.

“And I assume this Adler woman has some compromising photographs?”

Harry spoke up, “You’re very quick, Mr. Holmes.”

“Hardly a difficult deduction. Photographs of whom?”

“A person of significance to my employer. We prefer not to say any more at this time.”

“You can’t tell us anything?” John inquired from beside you.

Mycroft thought for a moment, choosing his words carefully, “I can tell you it’s a young person. A young female person.”

There was a silence that you decided to break, “How many photographs?”

“A considerable number, apparently.”

Sherlock spoke, “Do Miss Adler and this young female person appear in these photographs together?”

“Yes, they do.” Mycroft confirmed.

“And I assume in a number of compromising scenarios?” you could hear the amusement lacing Sherlock’s voice.  

“An imaginative range, we are assured.”

“John, you might want to put that cup back in your saucer now.”

“Can you help us, Mr. Holmes?”

“How?”

“Will you take the case?” Harry seemed hopeful.

“What case? Pay her, now and in full. As Miss Adler remarks in her masthead, know when you are beaten.”

Sherlock turned to put his coat on.

Mycroft spoke, “She doesn’t want anything. She got in touch, she informed us that the photographs existed, she indicated that she had no intention to use them to extort either money or favor.”

The excitement in Sherlock’s voice reignited your anger, that may have been turning into jealousy, “Oh, a power play. A power play with the most powerful family in Britain. Now that is a dominatrix. Oh, this is getting rather fun, isn’t it?”

“Sherlock,” “No,” you and John said at the same time.

Sherlock ignored you and continued, “Hmm. Where is she?”

“Uh, in London, currently. She’s staying-”

Sherlock cut Mycroft off, “Text me the details, I’ll be in touch by the end of the day.”

Sherlock grabbing his coat and exiting the room was everyone’s cue to get up and follow.

Harry questioned, “Do you really think you’ll have news by then?”

Sherlock turned back to him as he buttoned his jacket, “No, I think I’ll have the photographs.”

“One can only hope you’re as good as you seem to think.”

You slipped your coat on and watched as Sherlock observed Harry before stating, “I’ll need some equipment, of course.”

“Anything you require, I’ll have it sent over,” Mycroft announced.

“Can I have a box of matches?”

“I’m sorry?” Harry asked.

“Or your cigarette lighter, either will do.”  
“I don’t smoke.”

“No, I know you don’t, but your employer does.”

Sherlock held his hand out expectantly as Harry searched his pocket, “We have kept a lot of people successfully in the dark about this little fact, Mr. Holmes.”

“I’m not the Commonwealth,” Sherlock replied as he took the lighter.

Sherlock turned to leave again and John shot forward, “And that’s as modest as he gets. Pleasure to meet you.”

You gave a fake smile to Mycroft and nodded to Harry before following your boys out of the room.

“Laters!” Sherlock threw over his shoulder.

**

“Sherlock, what are you doing?” You asked, annoyance lacing your tone.

You watched as Sherlock threw several outfits at the wall as he rummaged through drawers and the closet.

You were sitting next to John in the living room, watching as different articles of clothing hit the wall.

Sherlock ignored you and that’s when John tried, “What are you doing?”

“I’m going into battle, John, I need the right armor.”

Sherlock appeared in the doorway moments later wearing a fire fighter jacket.

“No,” Sherlock mumbled as he disappeared again.

You turned to John, “I don’t know what’s got him so eager, but I really don’t like it.”

“Don’t worry about it Y/N, you know how he gets with new cases.”

“Yeah, but it’s never been like this… and with what Mycroft told us, I can’t help but be a little irritated over this.”

John gave you a knowing smirk which you ignored as Sherlock came out of the room, wearing the exact same thing he had on earlier in the day.

“Let’s go, we’ve got no time to lose,” Sherlock announced as he grabbed his coat and scarf and headed down the stairs.

“Whatever,” you sighed.

Once in the cab, Sherlock gave the driver the directions and you ignored him as you sat searching your phone. You knew you had no reason to act the way you were; you were just a little jealous how eager Sherlock was to go see another woman.

“So what’s the plan?” John asked.

“We know her address.”

“We just ring her doorbell?”

“Exactly. Just here, please.”

“You didn’t even change your clothes.”

“Then it’s time to add a splash of color,” you rolled your eyes at Sherlock’s words.

Getting out of the cab, the three of you made your way down the side street. You watched as Sherlock pulled his scarf from his neck and turned back to face you and John.

Sherlock started pacing and John asked, “Are we here?”

“Two streets away, but this will do.”

John looked to you then back to Sherlock, “For what?”

“Punch me in the face.”

“Punch you?”

“Yes, punch me, in the face. Didn’t you hear me?”

“I always hear “punch me in the face” when you’re speaking, but it’s usually subtext.”

“Oh, for god’s sakes!” Sherlock breathed just as he pulled back, punching John in the jaw.

You took a step back as you watched John hit the ground, “Sherlock! What the hell!”

John was on his feet in seconds, punching Sherlock before you could react further.

Sherlock gained his composure, “Thank you, that was, that was….”

John lunged at Sherlock, knocking him to the ground again. As they argued you saw this as the perfect opportunity to take out some of your own anger and budding jealousy.

Sherlock was attempting to get John off of his back but you stepped forward, “John pull him back a little, it’s my turn.”

“Y/N, what are you-” Sherlock began but stopped as your fist connected under his left eye.

The force of your punch knocked both boys to the ground and you stepped back, examining your knuckles.

Sherlock reached up and touched the bloody spot, “What was that for?”

You took a deep breath, “Needed to make it more convincing.”

Once you got to the door, you stood beside John as you watched Sherlock act, quite pathetically, like someone who had just been attacked.

Eventually a woman let the three of you in and you followed Sherlock into a side room while John went to the kitchen for a first aid kit.

Sherlock dabbed at his still bleeding cheek and you took a deep breath, “Sorry for hitting you so hard, here, let me help.”

You reached forward to take the napkin from him and began to wipe the blood away.

Sherlock pulled back from your touch and straightened his back as you heard a voice call, “Hello, sorry to hear that you’ve been hurt. I don’t think Kate caught your name.”

Sherlock wiped some more at his cuts before turning to face the woman who had spoken, “I’m so sorry, I’m….”

When Sherlock didn’t finish his sentence, you peaked around him to see what caused him to stop.

Stalking towards you was a naked woman, _the_ naked woman. You could feel the anger bubbling in the pit of your stomach.

“Oh, it’s always hard to remember an alias when you’ve had a fright. Isn’t it?”

You watched Sherlock as he fought to maintain eye contact with Irene instead of looking at her body. You on the other hand, were examining her and her motions, comparing every aspect of her to yourself.

Irene ignored you, taking step towards Sherlock and reaching to unbutton the top few buttons on his shirt, “There now, we’re both defrocked, Mr. Sherlock Holmes.”

“Miss Adler, I presume?”

“Look at those cheekbones. I could cut myself slapping that face. Would you like me to try?”

Irene put the paper from Sherlock’s collar in her mouth and you stood from your seat and snatched it out of her mouth, “No, he wouldn’t.”

The smirk on Irene’s face made you want to knock her out, in fact, you might have had John not come in when he did.

“Right, this should do it,” John took in the state of Irene’s naked body and the look of fury on your face before continuing, “I’ve missed something, haven’t I?”

Sherlock shifted uncomfortably as Irene moved away, “Please, sit down. Or if you’d like some tea, I can call the maid.”

“I had some at the Palace,” Sherlock stated.

“I know.”

“Clearly.”

You watched as Irene and Sherlock studied each other, finally making eye contact with John.

He cleared his throat and took a step forward, “I had a tea too, at the Palace. If anyone’s interested.”

Aware of John’s presence, Sherlock’s demeanor shifted and you could tell he was trying to read the naked woman in front of you. He continued to glance back and forth between all of you, confusion evident on his face as he looked at Irene.

“Do you know the big problem with a disguise, Mr. Holmes? However hard you try, it’s always a self-portrait.”

“You think I’m a vicar with a bleeding face?”

“No, I think you’re damaged, delusional, and believe in a higher power. In your case, it’s yourself. Hmm, and somebody loves you. If I had to punch that face, I’d avoid your nose and teeth too.”

John let out a sarcastic laugh, “Could you put something on, please? Er, anything at all, a napkin?”

John shifted the bowl in his hands to show the napkin he had.

Irene leaned forward, “Why, are you feeling exposed?”

Sherlock moved to stand up, grabbing his coat, “I don’t think John knows where to look.”

Irene stood, “No, I think he knows exactly where. I’m not sure about you.”

“If I want to look at naked women, I borrow John’s laptop.”

You let out a dry laugh, it was obvious Sherlock had forgotten you were there.

John ignored Irene as she slipped Sherlock’s coat on, “You do borrow my laptop.”

“I confiscate it,” Sherlock corrected.

“Well, never mind, we’ve got better things to talk about. Now, tell me, I need to know. How was it done?”

“What?”

“The hiker with the bashed-in head, how was he killed?”

Sherlock eyed you carefully, you were trying your best not to attack the woman who had just replaced Sherlock by your side.

“That’s not why I’m here.”

“No, no, no, you’re here for the photographs, but that’s never going to happen. And since we’re here just chatting anyway…”

John took another few steps, “That story’s not been on the news yet, how do you know about it?”

“I know one of the policemen. Well, I know what he likes,” Irene responded.

“Oh. And you like policemen?” John asked as he took a seat on the other side of Irene.

“I like detective stories. And detectives. Brainy’s the new sexy.”

Sherlock began making incoherent sounds, finally able to form a sentence, “Position of the car…. Uh, the position of the car relative to the hiker at the time of the backfire, that and the fact that the death blow was to the back of the head, that’s all you need to know.”

“She didn’t even need to know that, Sherlock,” you growled.

Once again you were ignored, “Okay, tell me, how was he murdered?”

“He wasn’t.”

“You don’t think it was murder?”

“I know it wasn’t.”

“How?”

“The same way that I know the victim was an excellent sportsman, recently returned from foreign travel and that the photographs I’m looking for are in this room.”

“Okay, but how?”

“So, they are in this room. Thank you. John, man the door, let no one in.”

John stood and left the room, the door clicking shut softly behind him.

You watched Sherlock pace and listened to him speak, trying to steady your ever growing anger, “Two men alone in the countryside, several yards apart and one car.”

“Oh, I… I thought you were looking for the photos now.”

“No, no, looking takes ages, I’m just going to find them, but you’re moderately clever and we’ve got a moment, so let’s pass the time. Two men, a car, and nobody else. Driver’s trying to fix his engine. Getting nowhere. And the hiker is taking a moment, looking at the sky. Watching the birds? Any moment now, something’s going to happen. What?”

Irene leaned forward, “The hiker’s going to die.”

“No, that’s the result. What’s going to happen?”

“I don’t understand.”

The moment the words left her lips you felt yourself smile and tried not to laugh.

Sherlock continued, “Oh, well, try to.”

“Why?”

“Because you cater to the whims of the pathetic and take your clothes off to make an impression. Stop boring me and think. It’s the new sexy,” Sherlock mocked.

“The car is going to backfire.”

“There’s going to be a loud noise.”

“So what?”

“Oh, noises are important. Noises can tell you everything. For instance…”

The fire alarm began to go off and you looked to Sherlock for an explanation. When he looked back to Irene your eyes followed and you watched as she looked to the mirror above the fireplace.

Sherlock took a few steps back, “thank you. On hearing a smoke alarm, a mother would look towards her child. Amazing how fire exposes our priorities,” he walked to the fireplace and felt around a bit before the mirror rose, “I really hope you don’t have a baby in here… Alright John, you can turn it off now.”

The alarm continued to blare and you wondered if John could hear from where he was.

Sherlock’s voice rose, “I said you can turn it off now.”

You heard John through the door, “Give me a minute,” the alarm stopped blaring, “Thank you.”

You moved to stand beside Sherlock as he examined the numbers on the safe, “Hmm, you should always use gloves with these things, you know. Heaviest oil deposit is always on the first key used, that’s quite clearly a three, but after that the sequence is almost impossible to read. I see from the make that it’s a six-digit code. It can’t be your birthday, no disrespect, but clearly you were born in the 80s and the eight’s barely used, so…”

“I’d tell you the code right now, but you know what? I already have. Think.”

You turned to Irene, confused about what she’d said. You thought back to every part of the conversation and in no part did she reveal anything close to a code.

There was a thud then the door opened and a familiar man walked through with a gun, followed by a few other men and John, “Hands behind your head, on the floor, keep it still!”

“Sorry, Sherlock,” John said, almost ashamed.

“Miss Adler, on the floor!”

Figuring you were next in line to be man handled to the ground, you knelt down, your hands intertwined at the back of your head, “You know, I always wondered if I was gonna see your ugly face again Neilson.”

Neilson turned to face you, his gun still aimed at Sherlock, “And I always hoped I wouldn’t have to see yours.”

You gave a sarcastic smile in response, your mind flashing images of your last encounter with the CIA asshole.

Sherlock spoke breaking your thoughts, “Don’t you want me on the floor too?”

“No, sir, I want you to open the safe.”

“American, interesting. Why would you care?”

“Sir, the safe, now, please.”

“I don’t know the code.”

“We’ve been listening, she said she told you.”

You spoke up, “Come on Neilson, if you were really listening, you’d know she didn’t tell him anything.”

“I’m assuming I missed something. From your reputation, I’m assuming you didn’t, Mr. Holmes.”

“For god’s sake, she’s the one who knows the code, ask her!” John yelled.

“Yes, sir, she also knows the code that automatically calls the police and sets off the burglar alarm. I’ve learned not to trust this woman.”

Irene cut in, “Mr. Holmes doesn’t-”

“Shut up! One more word out of you, just one, and I will decorate that wall with the insides of your head. That, for me, will not be a hardship.”

“Yeah, but if you didn’t want to get your hands dirty, I’m more than willing to do it for you,” you shot Irene a smile.

No part of you felt guilty for what you said, you’d heard a lot of things about her now it was personal, you didn’t think there was anything that would stop you from putting a bullet in her skull.

Neilson took a deep breath, ignoring your comment, “Mr. Archer, at the count of three, shoot Dr. Watson.”

“What?” John asked.

“Come on Neilson, you just said you’d shoot the bitch, do that, not John.”

Sherlock spoke, “I don’t know the code.”

“One.”

“I don’t know the code,” Sherlock repeated.

“Two.”

“She didn’t tell me; I don’t know it!”

“I’m prepared to believe you, any second now… Three!”

“No, stop!” Sherlock yelled.

Sherlock turned around slowly and examined the safe again. For John’s sake you hoped you missed something, that Sherlock would be right.

As Sherlock hit the numbers, you held your breath. Once the safe clicked though, you released it and realized he had figured it out.

“Thank you. Mr. Holmes. Open it, please.”

Sherlock turned the knob and looked at you before yelling, “Vatican cameos!”

You dropped to the floor, rolling towards Neilson. Above you, Sherlock spun and took the gun from him, hitting him in the temple causing him to drop. You’d gotten into a squatting position, one foot on Neilson’s right hand while your other foot was across his body pinning his left hand to the ground.

The blow hadn’t rendered him unconscious, so you made quick work of knocking him out once you were sure he wouldn’t fight back.

When you looked back, everyone was up and the men were down.

Irene spoke, “thank you, you were very observant.”

“Observant?” you and John questioned together.

“I’m flattered.”

“Don’t be,” Sherlock whispered.

“Flattered?”

Sherlock ignored John, “There’ll be more of them, they’ll be keeping an eye on the building.”

You followed Sherlock and John out of the room and outside, “We should call the police.”

“Yes,” Sherlock shot five rounds into the air, “on their way.”

“For god’s sake!”

“Oh, shut up, it’s quick," Sherlock argued. 

“Yeah and besides John, you should be used to his antics.”

Sherlock went back into the room with Irene and when you went to follow, he threw over his shoulder, “Check the rest of the house, see how they got in.”

John lightly grabbed your arm and guided you up the stairs. The two of you entered a large bedroom and saw a woman, Kate, lying unconscious on the ground.

“Sherlock!” John called.

You stayed by her side checking to make sure that her airways were clear and that she wouldn’t die as a result of being unconscious.

“Must have come in this way,” John explained.

“Clearly.”

Sherlock searched the room and Irene moved towards you, watching Kate. You didn’t know what to say to her, after all, you had just said you’d kill her.

Thankfully, John came over, “It’s alright, she’s just out cold.”

“Well god knows, she’s used to that. There’s a back door. Better check it, Doctor Watson.”

Irene reached down and touched the base of your neck, “Thank you, Y/N.”

You shuddered away from her touch then finished examining Kate.

“You’re very calm.”

You looked up to see Sherlock wasn’t talking to you then sat back on your heels, satisfied Kate would be okay.

“Well, your booby trap did just kill a man.”

“He would have killed me. It was self-defense in advance.”

Irene moved over to Sherlock and rubbed her hand down his arm before jabbing something into his other arm.

“What…? What is that? What…”

“Sherlock!” You pushed off the floor in an effort to go to Sherlock, but the room started spinning and you couldn’t focus. You realized before you hit the ground that Irene had just drugged the both of you.

You were fighting for consciousness, unable to move.

You could hear Irene talking to Sherlock, “This is how I want you to remember me, as the woman who beat you.”

That’s the last thing you heard before everything went black.

**

When you woke up, you were in bed beside Sherlock. You tried to sit up, your head was pounding. You felt your neck before looking over to Sherlock’s unconscious form beside you. You checked that he was still breathing before slowly getting up and leaving the room.

“Y/N!”

“John….”

He ran over to you, checking you over, “How are you feeling?”

“I’m a little dizzy, nauseous even, how long have we been out?”

“It’s been about six hours; Sherlock should be waking up any minute now.”

You groaned, “What the hell even happened? I mean, how could I have been so stupid?”

John turned to you, “What are you talking about Y/N, this isn’t your fault.”

“John, she told you to leave the room, then she stalked over to me. I should have known something was up. Right before she touched me all these red flags went up but I didn’t act on them. Because of that she got away and she drugged Sherlock and I.”

As if at the mention of his name, you heard Sherlock calling for you and John; he sounded so disoriented.

When you opened the bedroom door, Sherlock had hit the ground. You pushed past John and made your way over to Sherlock, hoping to help him stand up.

“Are you okay?”

“How did I get here?” Sherlock asked you.

You looked to John for answers, “Well, I don’t suppose you remember much, you weren’t making a lot of sense. Oh, I should warn you, I think Lestrade filmed you on his phone.”

“Me too?” you asked.

“No, Y/N, you were out the entire time, I had to carry you. I think it has something to do with you being smaller, the drug had more of an impact.”

“Good, Greg never would have let me live that down.”

Sherlock was behind you, on his feet now, fighting for balance. He continued to mutter, you guessed asking what happened to the woman.

“Oh, Irene Adler? She got away, no one saw her. She wasn’t here, Sherlock.”

Sherlock fell to the ground beside you and you stood to help John get him back into bed. He was heavier than you thought he would be and after struggling, you and John settled for just dropping him onto the bed.

“You’ll be fine in the morning, just sleep.”

“Of course I’ll be fine, I am fine. I’m absolutely fine.”

You covered Sherlock and walked over to the other side of the bed to sit next to him.

John gave you a nod and left the room responding to Sherlock, “Yes, you’re great. Now, I’ll be next door if you need me.”

“Why would I need you?” Sherlock muttered.

“No reason at all.”

You ran your hands through Sherlock’s hair and down his face, taking comfort in how peaceful he looked.

You realized that despite being unconscious the past several hours, you were exhausted. You’d decided to lay down beside Sherlock and curl into his side. Matching his breathing pattern, you found yourself drifting off.

***

You’d gone through a ridiculous amount the past few months. You were dealing with Sherlock’s uncomfortable fascination with Irene, the awkward situation with Molly on Christmas, then the little fact that Irene was sleeping in your bed and ignoring your relationship with Sherlock.

It wasn’t until Sherlock had leaked the information about the jumbo jet that would be staged for the terrorists that things started to bounce back for you. When you’d heard the words escape his lips, you were immediately on your feet and out the door, your phone pressed to your ear waiting for Mycroft to pick up.

When he finally did, you were already in a cab on your way to the office. You’d stay there until it was time to confront Sherlock about what he’d done.

Now, you were standing behind Mycroft, interrogating Irene Adler.

Mycroft gestured towards the phone, “You know, we have people who can get into this.”

“I tested that theory for you. I let Sherlock Holmes try it for six months. Sherlock, dear, tell him what you found when you x-rayed my camera-phone.”

“There are four additional units wired inside the casing. I suspect containing acid or a small amount of explosive. Any attempt to open the casing will burn the hard drive.”

“Explosive. It’s more me.”

You rolled your eyes but kept your mouth shut.

“Some data is always recoverable,” Mycroft countered.

“Take that risk.”

“You have a passcode to open this. I deeply regret to say we have people who can extract it from you.”

You liked the idea of that, someone torturing her… especially after what she’s put you through.

Irene sighed, “Sherlock?”

You looked over to him and noted he was staring into the fire, “There will be two passcodes, one to open the phone, one to burn the drive. Even under duress, you can’t know which one she’s given you and there would be no point in a second attempt.”

“Oh, he’s good, isn’t he? I should have him on a leash. In fact, I might.”

You put your hands down on the table in a threatening manner, “Back. Off.”

“Oh, you think that because Sherlock is with you that he doesn’t fantasize about me? It’s been months, sweet girl, you should know that he can’t stop thinking about me.”

“Mycroft, I think we should just forget about this and you let me eliminate the problem,” you said each word while staring into Irene’s eyes.

Mycroft took a deep breath while running a hand down his face, “We destroy this, then. No one has the information.”

“Fine. Good idea. Unless there are lives of British citizens depending on the information you’re about to burn.”

“Are there?”

“Telling you would be playing fair. I’m not playing anymore…. A list, of my requests, and some ideas about my protection once they’re granted. I’d say it wouldn’t blow much of a hole in the wealth of a nation, but then I’d be lying.”

You read over Mycroft’s shoulder as he scanned the list. She was treading on a very thin line of your patience.

She watched you, “I imagine you’d like to sleep on it.”

“Thank you, yes,” Mycroft responded.

“Too bad. Off you pop and talk to people.”

Mycroft relaxed in his chair and you straightened your form, your arms crossing over your chest.

“You’ve been very thorough. I wish our lot were half as good as you.”

“I can’t take all the credit, I had a bit of help. Oh, Jim Moriarty sends his love.”

“Yes, he’s been in touch. Seems desperate for my attention, which I’m sure can be arranged.”

Irene stood as she spoke, “I had all this stuff, never knew what to do with it. Thank god for the consultant criminal. Gave me a lot of advice about how to play the Holmes boys. Do you know what he calls you? The Ice Man and the Virgin. Didn’t even ask for anything, I think he just likes to cause trouble. Now that’s my kind of man.”

You watched Sherlock as Mycroft spoke, “And here you are, the dominatrix who brought a nation to its knees. Nicely played.”

Finally, Sherlock spoke, “No.”

“Sorry?” Irene questioned.

“I said no. Very, very close, but no. You got carried away. The game was too elaborate; you were enjoying yourself too much.”

“There’s no such thing as too much.”

Sherlock was up and moving towards the three of you, more specifically Irene, “Oh, enjoying the thrill of the chase is fine. Craving the distraction of the fame, I sympathize entirely, but sentiment? Sentiment is a chemical defect found in the losing side.”

“Sentiment? What are you talking about?” Adler pressed.

“You.”

“Oh, dear god. Look at the poor man. You don’t actually think I was interested in you? Why? Because you’re the great Sherlock Holmes, the clever detective in the funny hat?”

“No,” Sherlock took a step towards Irene, he was so close you thought he was going to kiss her.

Holding your breath, you dug your nails into your arm. Mycroft noticed and gave you a sympathetic look.

“…Because I took your pulse. Elevated. Your pupils dilated. I imagine John Watson thinks love is a mystery to me, he thinks I don’t know the way Y/N acts is love, she showed the same signs at first. You should know, the chemistry is incredibly simple and very destructive. When we first met, you told me that disguise is always a self-portrait. How true of you. The combination to your safe, your measurements, but this, this is far more intimate. This is your heart and you should never let it rule your head. You could have chosen any random number and walked out of here today with everything you’ve worked for. But you just couldn’t resist it, could you? I always assumed that love is a dangerous disadvantage. Thank you for the proof.”

You took a step forward, Mycroft on his feet beside you.

Irene grabbed Sherlock’s hand, “Everything I said, it’s not real. I was just playing the game.”

“I know, and this is just losing,” Sherlock pressed one final button and held the phone up signaling he had unlocked it.

Holding the phone out for Mycroft Sherlock said, “There you are, brother. I hope the contents make up for any inconvenience I may have caused you tonight.”

“I’m certain they will.”

“If you’re feeling kind, lock her up, otherwise let her go. I doubt she’ll survive long without her “protection.””

Sherlock made to leave but Irene called after him, “Are you expecting me to beg?”

“Yes,” he stopped in his place.

“Please. You’re right, I won’t even last six months.”

Sherlock reached his hand out and you walked over to him, intertwining your fingers with his, “Sorry about dinner,” he said as he pulled you through the door.

You turned to Irene, “Oh, and by the way, he’s not a virgin.”

With that the two of you left and made your way home to Baker Street. The entire way there, you couldn’t help but think about Moriarty and how everything he’s doing is somehow tied to Sherlock. You’d thought about your several meetings trying to piece together his plan.

When you could think of nothing, you thought about the meeting with Moriarty you knew you’d be having shortly; Mycroft would give in and see him again soon, you just weren’t ready for what was to come.

Sherlock squeezed your hand but didn’t look at you, you knew he was ashamed, maybe embarrassed, but he was definitely feeling something about how he acted with Irene and how he in turn treated you.

You’d hoped that none of the events of the past few months would hurt your relationship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so, this episode is my least favorite. Whenever I rewatch the show, I skip this episode. So, I rushed through this chapter.
> 
> But, good news! Watching the new episodes gave me ideas about Moriarty so yay!  
> (let's be honest, how amazing was that scene?) As you all know, I love Moriarty, so seeing him again gave me life.
> 
>  
> 
> Do you guys think I should skip The Hounds of Baskerville and go straight to The Reichenbach Fall? Or write it?


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the first half of The Hounds of Baskerville.... I decided to make it two chapters because I just haven't been able to write recently, and it has been a while since I posted, so I cut it in half (I didn't finish writing the end so I figured ending it before they go to Baskerville would be good).
> 
> It's short I know, but it's something, right?

You were sitting with John enjoying the silence of an early Monday morning when suddenly Sherlock burst through the door covered in blood. You sat up straight, setting your laptop on the table, and examined his form.

He had a spear in his right hand and he looked out of breath, “Well that was tedious.”

There was blood splattered all over his clothes and face and you were about to question it when John beat you to it.

“You went on the tube like that?” John asked skeptically.

Sherlock looked annoyed, “none of the cabs would take me.”

He walked to your bedroom, no doubt to put the spear away and grab a change of clothes so that he could shower, but that didn’t answer any of the questions that you and John still had.

John looked over to you, his eyes wide, hoping you could explain what just happened.

You shrugged your shoulders and took a sip of your tea before picking your laptop up again and going back to work.

Within the next hour or so, Sherlock emerged from the shower in his pajamas and robe with the spear in hand.

He hadn’t said anything to you or John, so you continued to ignore him and allowed him time to pace. John picked up the paper and skimmed over it, no doubt waiting for the impeding outburst from Sherlock.

“Nothing?” Sherlock asked as he paced.

“Military coup in Uganda,” John read aloud.

“Hm.”

“Hm,” John agreed before continuing, “Another photo of you with the er….”

You stood up and walked over to John, wanting to see what he saw. You saw that photo of Sherlock with the hat on that everyone loved.

“Oh!”

“Sherlock, it’s fine. I like this picture.”

He shot you a look and John continued reading, “Well, um, Cabinet reshuffle?”

“Nothing of importance?” Sherlock slammed the spear on the floor while exclaiming, “Oh, god!”

There was a pause while Sherlock thought and you peaked at John before looking back to Sherlock, you knew where this was going.

“John, I need some. Get me some.”

“No.”

“Get me some.”

“No. cold turkey, we agreed, no matter what. Anyway, you’ve paid everyone off, remember. No one within a two-mile radius will sell you any.”

“Stupid idea. Whose idea was that?”

Sherlock looked at you expectantly and you threw your hands up, “hey don’t look at me, it wasn’t my idea.”

John cleared his throat and Sherlock ignored him, obviously not wanting to admit that he was the one that was causing his own distress.

“Mrs. Hudson!” Sherlock yelled before throwing all of the books and papers off of John’s desk.

You watched as he opened boxes and drawers, frantically looking for his cigarettes.

“Look, Sherlock, you’re doing really well, don’t give up now!” John yelled over the noise.

“Tell me where they are! Please, tell me.”

Sherlock stopped looking and stood up straight, “please,” he whispered at you.

“I don’t know where they are babe, and even if I did, I wouldn’t tell you. Like John said, you are doing really well. It’s nice not having the smoke smell here or on you.”

Sherlock took a deep breath and spun on his heels to face John, “Please,” he said more firmly this time.

John turned back to the paper, “Can’t help, sorry.”

“I’ll let you know next week’s lottery numbers,” John laughed and Sherlock continued, “It was worth a try.”

He turned back to you, “Look _babe,_ ” he mocked your nickname for him, “Tell me where they are, if you don’t I’ll just find them myself. I just wanted to save you the trouble of having to clean up after me.”

“What are you-” you started to ask, but you stopped when you saw Sherlock dive to the floor in front of John and scramble to the fire place.

He began tossing your stack of books left and right and resorted to looking in the shoes that were neatly placed there.

Mrs. Hudson came into the room announcing her presence. She stopped beside John and watched in horror as Sherlock tore the room apart.

“My secret supply, what have you done with my secret supply?” Sherlock questioned.

Mrs. Hudson made a confused sound and he clarified, “cigarettes, what have you done with them, where are they?”

“You never let me touch your things!” She defended before continuing, “Oh, chance would be a fine thing.”

She gestured around the room and Sherlock stood up to face her, “I thought you weren’t my housekeeper.”

“I’m not.”

“Argh!” Sherlock headed back to where you were and picked up the spear again.

You looked to John and Mrs. Hudson and saw John make a drinking motion, prompting Mrs. Hudson to offer tea.

“How about a nice cuppa and perhaps you could put away your harpoon?”

Sherlock spun around, spear in hand, his left hand hanging mere inches from your face, “I need something stronger than tea. Seven percent stronger,” Sherlock aimed his spear at Mrs. Hudson, “You’ve been to see Mr. Chatterjee again.”

“Pardon?”

“Sandwich shop. That’s a new dress, but there’s flour on the sleeve. You wouldn’t dress like that for baking.”

“Sherlock,” you warned.

“Thumbnail, tiny traces of foil. Been at the scratch cards again. We all know where that leads, don’t we?” He dramatically smelled the air, “Mmm, Kasbah Nights. Pretty racy for a Monday morning, wouldn’t you agree? I’ve written a little blog on the identification of perfumes. It’s on the website, you should look it up.”

“Please!”

Sherlock walked to the window and set the spear against the wall, “Don’t pin your hopes from that cruise with Mr. Chatterjee, he’s got a wife in Doncaster that nobody knows about.”

“Sherlock!” you yelled.

He ignored you, “Well, nobody except me.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, I really don’t!” Mrs. Hudson yelled before leaving and slamming the door behind her.

Sherlock stepped over the chair and took a seat on the back of it. You placed the laptop on the table again and got up to go stand beside him.

John threw his newspaper down, “What the bloody hell was all that about?”

“You don’t understand,” Sherlock muttered as he rocked back and forth.

You rubbed his back in hopes that it would calm him down a bit. You felt bad for him, but you didn’t want him to start smoking again.

“Go after her, and apologize,” John said firmly.

Sherlock looked up, “Apologize?”

“Mhmm.”

“Oh, John, I envy you so much.”

John lost his parental demeanor, “You envy me?”

“Your mind, it’s so placid, straight-forward, barely used. Mine is like an engine, racing out of control. A rocket, tearing itself to pieces, trapped on the launch pad. I need a case!”

“You’ve just solved on, by harpooning a dead pig, apparently!” John yelled back.

Sherlock flung his legs out from under him, landing in the chair, “Oh, that was this morning,” he was tapping his fingers and feet impatiently, “When is the next one?”

“Did you check the website?” you questioned.

Sherlock stood up and went around you to grab his laptop. He handed it to you and before pacing and reciting what the message said, “Dear Mr. Sherlock Holmes. I can’t find Bluebell anywhere. Please, please, please can you help?”

You read the text as he spoke, slightly amused that he had memorized it.

You sighed and handed John the laptop who began to scan the screen, “Bluebell?”

“A rabbit, John!”

“Oh.”

“Ah, but there’s more. Before Bluebell disappeared, it turned luminous. “Like a fairy,” according to little Kirsty. Then the next morning, Bluebell was gone. Hutch still locked, no sign of a forced entry. Ah! What am I saying, this is brilliant! Phone Lestrade, tell him there’s an escaped rabbit.”

You watched Sherlock suspiciously, he was having too many emotions in the span of two minutes for your liking, “Are you serious?” you and John questioned together.

Sherlock sighed, taking a few steps forward, “It’s this or Cluedo.”

John shot forward shutting the laptop, “Ah, no. We are never playing that again.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s not actually possible for the victim to have done it, Sherlock, that’s why.”

“It was the only possible solution.”

“It’s not in the rules.”

“Well, then, the rules are wrong!” Sherlock argued back.

You were about to step in and question what they were talking about, confused but sorta glad you missed the night they were drawn into playing that, when the doorbell rang.

“A single ring.”

“Maximum pressure, just under the half second.”

Together you all said, “Client.”

You were sure that Mrs. Hudson wasn’t going to answer the door, not after what Sherlock had just said to her. So, you made your way down the steps to answer the door.

When you opened the door you saw a tall, funny looking man staring back at you, “Hello, uhm, I’m looking for Sherlock Holmes and Dr. John Watson.”

You smiled at the man, noting his quivering state, “I figured, follow me.”

Once upstairs, you noted the boys in their usual places and you lead the man to another chair for him to sit down. He stopped you, “I would like some help, I have a video for clarification,” he barely got out.

You looked to the boys as he dug in his bag and took out a disk. Sherlock waived his hand in a ‘go ahead’ manner and you took the disk from him before inserting it into the player and turning on the TV.

You went back and took your usual place on the arm of Sherlock’s chair and settled in as the video began.

You were surprised to see that Sherlock was listening intently to the woman on the screen and what she had to say, informing about Dartmoor.

Sherlock was beginning to get antsy and you watched as his fingers strummed anxiously. He was alternating his attention between the screen and the man, who you learned to be named Henry.

Once the interview began on the screen, Sherlock switched it off, “What did you see?”

“Oh, I was just about to say.”

“Yes, in a TV interview. I prefer to do my own editing.”

Sherlock’s fingers were now steepled under his chin and Henry stuttered, “Yes. Sorry, yes, of course,” he pulled out a napkin from his pocket whispering, “Excuse me,” before blowing his nose.

John replied, “in your own time.”

And Sherlock quickly added, “But quite quickly.”

The man sighed, “Do you know Dartmoor, Mr. Holmes?”

“No.”

“It’s an amazing place, it’s like nowhere else, it’s sort of bleak, but beautiful.”

“Hm, not interested. Moving on.”

You looked at Sherlock and gave him a funny look before turning your attention back to Henry.

“We used to go for walks, after my mom died, my dad and me. Every evening, we’d go out onto the moor.”

You could feel how impatient Sherlock was from beside you, “Yes, good. Skipping to the night that your dad was violently killed, where did that happen?”

You shot a glance at John, who was just as surprised as you were at Sherlock’s bluntness; it didn’t seem to faze Henry though, which was good.

Henry continued, “There’s a place, it’s a sort of local landmark, called Dewer’s Hollow… That’s an ancient name for the devil.”

You could tell Henry was trying to get a reaction out of Sherlock, to no avail.

Sherlock gave him a look, “So?”

John spoke up for the first time during the interview, “Did you see the devil that night?”

“Yes,” he whispered.

You examined his face, watching as his eyes stared at nothing, no doubt seeing that night clearly in his head, “It was huge,” he added, “Coal-black fur with red eyes…. It got him. Tore at him, tore him apart. I can’t remember anything else. They found me the next morning, just wandering on the moor. My dad’s body was never found.”

“Hmm,” John pondered aloud, “no red eyes, coal-black fur, enormous… a dog? Wolf?”

“Or a genetic experiment,” Sherlock whispered.

Henry looked appalled, “Are you laughing at me, Mr. Holmes?”

“Why, are you joking?” He shot back.

“My dad was always going on about the things they were doing at Baskerville. About the type of monsters they were breeding there. People used to laugh at him. At least the TV people took me seriously.”

“And I assume it did wonders for Devon tourism.”

You decided to intervene, “Henry, whatever happened to your father, it was twenty years ago, why come to us now?”

He ignored you, “Not sure you can help me, Mr. Holmes, since you find it all so funny!”

“Because of what happened last night.”

“What?” you questioned.

“Why, what happened last night?” John echoed.

Henry was up and almost out the door when he stopped and stared at Sherlock, “How… how did you know?”

“I didn’t know, I noticed. You came up from Devon on the first train this morning. You had a disappointing breakfast and a black coffee. The girl across the aisle fancied you. Although you were initially keen, now you’ve changed your mind. You are ever extremely anxious to have your first cigarette of the day. Sit down, Mr. Knight, and do please smoke. I’d be delighted.”

Henry looked at John then at you before moving back to sit down again, “How on Earth did you notice all that?”

“It’s not important,” John tried.

Sherlock didn’t skip a beat though, “Punched out holes where your ticket’s been checked.”

“Not now, Sherlock,” you whispered.

“Oh, please. I’ve been cooped up here for ages!”

“You’re showing off.”

“Of course. I am a show off, that’s what we do,” he turned back to Henry, “train napkin you used to mop up the spilled coffee. The stain shows that you didn’t take milk. There are traces of ketchup on it and on your lips and on your sleeve. Cooked breakfast, or the nearest thing those trains can manage; probably a sandwich.”

“Ha. How did you know it was disappointing?” Henry questioned.

“Is there any other type of breakfast on a train? The girl. Female handwriting’s quite distinctive, wrote her phone number down on the napkin. I can tell from the angle she wrote that she was sat across from you, on the other side of the aisle. Later, after she got off, I imagine you used the napkin to mop up your spilled coffee, accidentally smudging the numbers. You’ve been over the last four digits yourself in another pen, so you wanted to keep the number. Just now though you used the napkin to blow your nose, maybe you’re not that into her, after all,” Sherlock took a deep breath, “then there’s the nicotine stains on your shaking fingers. I know the signs. No chance to smoke when on the train, no time to roll one before you got a cab here. It’s just after 9:15, you’re desperate. The first train from Exeter to London leaves at 5:46 am. You got the first one possible, so something important must have happened last night. Am I wrong?”

“No. You’re right. You’re completely, exactly right. Bloody hell, I heard you were quick.”

“It’s my job. Now shut up and smoke.”

You didn’t want the smell in the room, but you also didn’t want to argue with Sherlock. You looked at John who was scanning his notes, before leaning back and letting out an exasperated sigh.

“Henry, your parents both died, and you were what, seven years old? I know, that…” John stopped as he took in the sight of Sherlock leaning into Henry to inhale the cigarette smoke.

You continued for John, “That must be quite a trauma. Have you ever thought that maybe you invented this story?”

Henry blew out a puff of smoke and once again, Sherlock was on his feet inhaling the smoke.

“To account for it,” John added.

Henry turned to face him, “that’s what Dr. Mortimer says.”

“Who?”

“His therapist.” “My therapist.” Sherlock and Henry said together.

“Obviously.”

“Louise Mortimer. She’s the reason I came back to Dartmoor. She thinks I have to face my demons.”

Sherlock seemed intrigued again, “What happened when you went back to Dewer’s Hollow last night, Henry? You went there on the advice of your therapist and now you’re consulting a detective. What did you see that changed everything?”

“It’s a strange place, the Hollow,” Henry muttered, “It makes you feel so cold inside, so afraid.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes, “Yes, if I wanted poetry, I’d read John’s emails to his girlfriends, much funnier. What did you see?”

Henry blew out another puff, “Footprints. On the exact spot where I saw my father torn apart.”

“A man’s or a woman’s?” John asked.

“Neither. They were-”

Sherlock cut him off, “Is that it? Nothing else? Footprints, is that all?”

“Yes, but they were-”

“No, sorry, Dr. Mortimer wins. It’s a childhood trauma masked by an invented memory. Boring! Goodbye, Mr. Knight, thank you for smoking.”

“What about the footprints?”

“Oh, they’re probably paw prints, could be anything, therefore nothing. Off to Devon with you and have a cream tea on me.”

Sherlock stood up and made his way to the kitchen.

Henry turned around and called after him, “Mr. Holmes, they were the footprints of a gigantic hound.”

You watched as Sherlock stopped and came back to stand in front of Henry again, “Say that again.”

“I found footprints, they were big-”

“No, no, no, your exact words. Repeat your exact words from a moment ago, exactly as you said them.”

“Mr. Holmes, they were the footprints of a gigantic hound.”

Sherlock looked calm, “I’ll take the case.”

“Sorry, what?” John asked.

“Thank you for bringing this to my attention, it’s very promising.”

“No, no, no, sorry, _what_?” John repeated, “A minute ago, footprints were boring, now they’re very promising?”

“It’s got nothing to do with footprints. As ever, John you weren’t listening. Baskerville, ever heard of it?”

“Vaguely, it’s very hush hush.”

“Sounds like a good place to start.”

Henry leaned forward in the chair, “you’ll come down then?”

“No, I can’t leave London at the moment, far too busy. But don’t worry, I’m putting my best man onto it,” he reached over and patted John on the shoulder, “I can always rely on John to send me the relevant data, as he never understands a word of it himself.”

“What are you talking about “you’re busy,” you don’t have a case,” John argued, “A minute ago you were complaining-”

“I’ve got Bluebell, John! The case of the vanishing glow in the dark rabbit. NATO’s in uproar.”

You slid off the arm of the chair and fully onto the seat, taking in the scene in front of you.

Confused, Henry asked, “Oh, sorry, you’re not coming, then?”

Sherlock inhaled and made it a point to frown before shaking his head no.

“Oh, okay,” John said as he stood, “Okay.”

John walked over to the fireplace and lifted the skull off the mantel. He turned around, Sherlock’s cigarettes in hand, and tossed them across the room to him.

Sherlock caught them then threw them to you, “I don’t need those anymore, I’m going to Dartmoor. You go on ahead, Henry, we’ll follow later.”

Henry looked at you since Sherlock had left the room, “I’m sorry, so you are coming?”

You were all standing now, watching Sherlock, “Twenty-year-old disappearance, a monstrous hound? I wouldn’t miss this for the world!”

**

A few hours later, you were standing outside with Sherlock, your suitcases piled at your feet.

While you were waiting for John to come down you listened to Mrs. Hudson yelling. You were facing Sherlock trying not to laugh. He watched you curiously, maybe not understanding that you knew you shouldn’t have been listening.

A cab pulled up and Sherlock began loading the bags into the back as John came through the door. Something hit the window and the three of you turned back to watch as Mrs. Hudson waved her arms frantically.

“Oh! Looks like Mrs. Hudson finally got to the wife in Doncaster.”

“Hm. Wait until she finds out about the one in Islamabad,” Sherlock remarked.

The three of you piled into the cab and headed to the station. Once you got there, you saw the train was already boarding and you rushed to catch it.

You’d found a spot towards the back of the car and you slid into the spot closest to the window. Sherlock and John made quick work of loading the bags into the space above you before sitting down themselves.

Sherlock took the seat beside you and John slid in across from him. You were thankful you found a spot that had a table because you thought you would be able to do a little work on your laptop during the ride.

“It’s been a long while since I was on a train,” John stated as it started to go.

“Yeah me too,” you replied.

You decided a few minutes into the trip that you weren’t going to be able to get any work done. Sherlock and John were discussing random things on and off, so you decided to take a nap.

Placing your head on the table, you closed your eyes and let the smooth movement of the train relax you. Before you fell asleep, you felt a hand on your back and smiled to yourself at how Sherlock’s intimacy has evolved.

When you’d arrived, it was late afternoon. You’d taken a cab to the closest inn to Baskerville and settled into the room you’d be sharing. Apparently, Henry’s story had brought a lot of attention to the town because there was only one room left. Luckily, the room was a double, so you knew it would still be comfortable despite the lack of privacy.

Sherlock wasted no time making himself comfortable, instead he was heading back out of the room with his coat. You and John grabbed what you thought you’d need and followed after him.

“Sherlock,” you called before you could catch up to him, you grabbed his arm and slid your hand to his, “Where are we going?”

“To investigate, we can’t waste any time.”

John had caught up by then, “Right, well how are we supposed to get wherever we’re going?”

Sherlock simply smiled as a boxy, black SUV pulled up and a man stepped out. He handed the keys to Sherlock before heading into the inn.

“You know, it’d be nice if you filled us in on your plans,” you complained.

“I thought they were rather obvious,” was all he said before climbing into the driver’s seat.

John walked around to the other side of the car and climbed into the passenger seat, so you got in behind Sherlock.

You’d pulled up a map app to see how long the car ride would be before letting yourself relax completely.

The drive would only be about twenty minutes, but you knew it would feel a lot longer than that.

Before you could arrive at any actual location, Sherlock parked the car and stepped out. You sighed at the lack of communication and John chuckled quietly to himself as he grabbed a map from the middle consul.

You followed Sherlock up a hill and took in your surroundings, “Where are we?”

Sherlock climbed to the top of a rock pile and you moved to stand beside John, wanting a look at the map.

“There’s Baskerville,” he said as he pointed to a cluster of buildings. He turned around and pointed behind you, “Er… That’s Grimpen Village.”

You turned back and examined the map as John spoke again, “So that must be… yes, Dewer’s Hollow.”

Sherlock pointed in the direction you were facing, “What’s that?”

“Hmm?” John questioned.

He put the binoculars from around his neck to his eyes, “A mine field? Technically, Baskerville’s an army base, so I guess they’ve always been keen to keep people out.”

“Clearly,” Sherlock called.

He began to make his way back down from the cliff and headed towards the car.

You and John followed, aware that it was useless to question him anymore.

It was clear that you were heading back to the inn and you were glad, you were starting to get hungry.

Once you’d arrived, you saw a man explaining to a group of people about the Moor, but you’d ignored him.

Hoping you could grab a bite to eat, you were disappointed when they started asking the inn keeper questions.

You listened as the man told John about the Hound and all the attention it was bringing the inn and Baskerville. When he told him about Fletcher having seen the hound for himself, you and Sherlock decided to go to question him.

Sherlock grabbed a cup from a side table before following you over to the table Fletcher had chosen, “Mind if we join you?” You asked him as sweetly as possible.

Fletcher turned to you for a moment and smiled once he’d seen you. He motioned for you to sit down before turning his back once again.

You sat down across from him with Sherlock beside you. You were trying to think of how to start the conversation when Sherlock beat you to it, “It’s not true, is it, you haven’t actually seen this hound thing?”

Fletcher looked skeptical, “Are you from the papers?”

“No, nothing like that, just curious. Have you seen it?”

“Maybe.”

“Got any proof?”

“Why would I tell you if I did? Excuse me,” Fletcher said as he got up to leave.

John came over then, “I called Henry.”

“Bet’s off John, sorry,” you said.

“What?”

Fletcher was interested again, “Bet?”

Sherlock spoke before you could, “My plan needs darkness. We’ve got another half an hour of light.”

“Wait, wait, what bet?”

“Oh. I bet John here fifty quid that you couldn’t prove you’d seen the hound.”

John caught on, “Yeah, the guys in the pub said you could.”

Still a little on edge, it looked as though Fletcher was hesitating.

You flipped your hair over your shoulder and let out a sigh, “I told them not to make the bet, that money was supposed to be for our date tonight….” You trailed off while shooting a side glance at Sherlock.

Fletcher smiled, obviously pleased with the thought of a beautiful girl like you not being taken. He looked at Sherlock, “Well, you’re going to lose your money, mate.”

“Yeah?” Sherlock taunted.

“Yeah, I seen it, only about a month ago up at the Hollow. It was foggy, mind, couldn’t make out much.”

“I see. No witnesses, I suppose.”

“No, but-”

“Never are.”

“No, wait,” Fletcher held out his phone, “There.”

You looked at the picture, examining the turned up dirt and what looked to be a large print.

Sherlock laughed from beside you, “Is that it? It’s not exactly proof, is it? Sorry, John, I win,” he put his arm around you and pulled you to his side.

Fletcher interjected, “Wait, wait, that’s not all. People don’t like going up there, you know. To the Hollow. Gives them a bad sort of feeling.”

“Ooh, is it haunted? Is that supposed to convince me?” Sherlock taunted.

“Nah, don’t be stupid! Nothing like that. But I reckon there is something out there. Something from Baskerville, escaped.”

“A clone? A super-dog?”

Sherlock’s attitude was annoying you slightly, sometimes he took things a little too far and it made you uncomfortable when he got this cocky.

“Maybe. God knows what they’ve been spraying on us all these years, or putting in the water. I wouldn’t trust them as far as I could spit.”

John took a sip of his stout, afraid to break Sherlock’s zone.

You stared past John, taking in everything that was being said.

“Is that the best you’ve got?”

Fletcher contemplated his words, “I had a mate once who worked for the MOD. One weekend we were meant to go fishing, but he never showed up. Well, not till late. When he did, he was white as a sheet. I can see him now. “I’ve seen things today, Fletcher,” he said, “That I never want to see again. Terrible things.” He’d been sent to some secret army place. Porton Down, maybe. Maybe Baskerville, or somewhere else. In the labs there, the really secret labs, he said he’d seen terrible things. “Rats as big as dogs,” he said. And dogs, dogs the size of horses."

He pulled a mold from his bag, it looked like it was a cast of a footprint. Sherlock leaned into you in an effort to get a closer look. It was definitely a paw print, but there was no explanation as to why it was the size of your head.

 _Maybe there is something going on here,_ you thought.

John cleared his throat, “Uhm, we did say fifty.”

Sherlock reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet, handing John several bills.

He got up and left the table, John following behind.

You looked up at Fletcher and forced one more smile out, “Thank you.”

He nodded and you jogged to catch up to the boys. Sherlock entered the building your room was in and you sighed in relief.

“Your plan,” you started, taking off your jacket, “Are we doing that tonight or tomorrow?”

Sherlock laid his coat on the chair by the bed you’d be sharing, “Considering there is only about fifteen minutes left of daylight, it will have to be tomorrow. For tonight, I’d say we should get some rest.”

You plopped down on the bed dramatically, “thank you!”

John was still standing by the door, “So I’ll go and get us some dinner then?”

You turned to face him, “Please! Are you just running back to the pub? If yeah just bring whatever, I’ll eat anything at this point.”

John nodded before turning to leave and you called after him, “thanks, John!”

You relaxed, your right hand on your stomach and your left laying lazily above your head.

Sherlock pulled his laptop from his bag and sat on the bed beside you. You watched as he searched ‘Baskerville’ and scanned several articles.

After several minutes, Sherlock blinked twice, his concentration broken. He looked down at you, his eyes flicking down to your lips then back up to your eyes. He leaned down and kissed you quickly, sitting up again like it hadn’t happened.

You smiled to yourself knowing he must have had an idea and that he could relax for the night.

John came back shortly after, his hands filled with Styrofoam containers. You sat up to eat, taking in the smell of potatoes and sausage.

The three of you ate in relative silence, only a few words exchanged here and there.

Once you finished, you got up to shower and get ready for the night. Soon, you were in bed cuddled into Sherlock’s side.

 You reached up and placed a kiss to Sherlock’s lips, “Goodnight” you whispered against them.

Settling back down, you said over your shoulder, “goodnight, John.”

“Night, Y/N, Sherlock.”

Knowing Sherlock was going to have all of you up extremely early, you focused on the sound of his heartbeat, your fingers lightly drumming the beat. Falling into a trance, you closed your eyes and continued the rhythm until your breathing evened out and you were asleep.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so like, a lot's happened in the last 2 months. Mainly, I've been in the hospital and have missed 3 weeks of classes.... So I'm super stressed. Literally only got this up because I'm slowly accepting I'm probably going to fail this semester.... 
> 
> Also, my laptop broke, so I had to struggle with my credit to get a new one. 
> 
> Life is so against me.

The next morning, you were woken up by the soft sound of a violin. You rolled over and saw the spot next to you was empty. Sitting up, you looked around the room and saw Sherlock standing in front of the mirror in the bathroom.

He was running his hands through his hair when you stepped into the room behind him.

“Where’s John? And how come you’re awake, it’s still dark outside.”

Sherlock turned to you, his hands fiddling with the buttons of his dress shirt.

“I was going to wake you in a few minutes, John is gathering last minute information; we’re going to visit Baskerville.”

You yawned, “Ugh, okay, do I need to dress properly for this or….?”

“If by ‘properly’ you mean the way that you dress when you go to work, then yes.”

Sighing, you pushed past Sherlock to grab your toothbrush before going back to the bedroom to grab one of the dresses you packed.

With the toothbrush in your mouth, you slipped out of your pajamas and into the tight black dress.

“Sherlock, can you zip me up?” You questioned around the toothbrush.

“What?”

You turned around and lifted your hair, showing your back and the zipper you needed him to pull up for you.

He walked over to you and helped you with your dress then turned you so you were facing him. He smiled down at you then started laughing.

Rolling your eyes, you went into the bathroom to spit and finish brushing your teeth.

John came back then announcing he was ready and that the three of you should get going.

Sherlock once again drove as the three of you made your way to Baskerville. You stared out the window and looked at the sun over the hills.

None of you said much of anything as you took the quick drive.

It wasn’t until you pulled up to the gate and a man asked for a pass that John breathed out, “you’ve got ID for Baskerville? How?”

“It’s not specific to this place. It’s my brother’s. Access all areas. I, um… Ahem. Acquired it ages ago. Just in case.”

You watched as the men searched the car and took particular interest in the German Sheppard that was at the front. You thought about how the apartment would be more homey if you had a dog around.

“Brilliant.”

“What’s the matter?” Sherlock inquired.

Immediately John said, “We’ll get caught.”

“No, we won’t! Well, not just yet.”

“Caught in five minutes. “Oh hi, we thought we’d have a wander around your top secret weapons base.” “Really? Great. Come in, kettle’s boiled.” That’s if we don’t get shot.”

You leaned forward and placed a hand on John’s shoulder, “Don’t be so dramatic, John. Although, we wouldn’t be having this conversation if we just used my ID.”

The gate opened and you sat back as Sherlock took his card back and started the car.

“Straight through, sir,” one of the soldiers said.

John laughed in disbelief, “Mycroft’s name literally opens doors.”

“I’ve told you, he practically is the British government. I reckon we’ve got about 20 minutes before they realize something is wrong.”

Sherlock parked the car and the three of you got out. You looked around as you were escorted to the main building. Another car pulled up and a soldier jumped out.

“What is it? Are we in trouble?”

“Are we in trouble, _sir_.” The soldier escorting you corrected.

“Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.”

“You were expecting us?” Sherlock asked.

“Your ID showed up straight away, Mr. Holmes. Corporal Lyons, security. Is there something wrong, sir?”

You looked to Sherlock who responded, “I hope not, Corporal, I hope not.”

“It’s just we don’t get inspected here. You see, sir. It just doesn’t happen, especially with three people.”

You spoke from beside Sherlock, “Of course not, it is usually just two, but this is a military base, isn’t it Corporal? It only makes sense to bring with us a serviceman."

John stepped forward, “Ever hear of a spot check? Captain John Watson, Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers.”

“Sir. Major Barrymore won’t be pleased, sir. He’ll want to see all three of you.”

It was your turn, you stepped forward flashing your ID, “I’m sorry, I’m afraid we don’t have time for that. We need the full tour. Right away, carry on."

He stared at you, confused about what to do.

John spoke, “That is an order, Corporal.”

“Yes, of course.”

Lyon led the three of you to a side door and swiped his badge signaling for Sherlock to swipe his.

The door opened and Sherlock looked at his watch before you entered.

This happened several times until you finally made it to a lower level with several animals.

Soon, a man in a white suit approached all of you, “Ah, and you are?”

“It’s alright, Doctor Frankland, I’m just showing them around.”

He spoke again, “Ah, new faces, how nice. Careful you don’t get stuck here, though, I only came to fix a tap.”

He chuckled as he walked away and you noted the look of suspicion on Sherlock’s face as he watched Frankland leave. 

John paid it no mind, “How far down does that lift go?”

“Quite a way, sir.”

“And what’s down there?”

“Well we have to keep the bins somewhere, sir.”

The conversation between John and the Corporal continued as you looked around and continued to walk.

Soon you came to a woman who was instructing others. It wasn’t until Sherlock pulled out a piece of paper and held it in front of the woman that you realized what was happening.

You watched as he examined her face looking for any reaction to it before finally interrogating her about Bluebell, the rabbit.

After finishing his interrogation, Sherlock walked away announcing it was time to leave.

You rushed after them, John obviously confused.

You walked quickly behind Sherlock trying to catch up, John questioning, “Did we just break into a military base to investigate or rabbit?”

Sherlock swiped his ID badge, waiting to get out of the building. You knew it would only be a few moments before Mycroft was alerted as to what was happening.

You still didn’t understand why you couldn’t just wipe your badge, _I guess that would look bad if I did it now,_ you thought.

As you are leaving, Sherlock pulled out his phone, “Ha! 23 minutes. Mycroft’s getting slow.”

When the door opened, Dr Frankland was standing there and addressed all of you, “Hello, again.”

The five of you rode the elevator up and were confronted by another man once the doors opened again, Lyon stuttered, “Er, Major…”

“This is bloody outrageous! Why wasn’t I told?”

John spoke up, “Major Barrymore, is it? Yes, well, good. Very good, we’re very impressed. Aren’t we, Mr. Holmes?”

Sherlock slid past you, “Deeply, hugely.”

He pulled his phone out again, no doubt checking the messages Mycroft was repeatedly sending the two of you.

Barrymore continued, “The whole point of Baskerville was to eliminate this kind of bureaucratic nonsense!”

“I’m so sorry, Major,” Sherlock said as he slipped his phone back into his pocket.

“Inspections!” Barrymore yelled.

“New policy. Can’t remain unmonitored forever, goodness knows what you’d get up to. Keep walking,” Sherlock whispered the last part to you but still loud enough for John to hear.

“Sir!” Lyon yelled from behind all of you.

You turned around in time to see him slam a button on the wall that put the entire building in lockdown mode, “ID unauthorized, sir.”

“What?”

“I’ve just had the call.”

Barrymore turned to Sherlock, “Is that right? Who are you?”

John spoke up, “Look, there’s obviously been some kind of mistake."

Sherlock handed the ID to Barrymore and he looked it over before hissing, “Clearly not, Mycroft Holmes.”

You stepped forward, “If you would just let me scan my ID you’ll see we’re authorized. Mr. Holmes has had trouble in the past with the magnetic strip on the back of his ID.”

You slipped your ID out of your pocket and began to hand it to Barrymore but he ignored you, he was too busy staring down Sherlock.

John tried again, “Computer error, Major. It’ll all have to go in the report.”

“What the hell is going on?” Barrymore yelled.

“It’s alright, Major, I know who these gentlemen are,” Dr Frankland ensured.

“You do?”

“Yeah, I’m getting a little slow on faces, but Mr. Holmes here isn’t someone I expected to show up in this place.”

“Ah, well,” Sherlock started.

“Good to see you again, Mycroft.”

You and John turned to him in disbelief but sighed in relief as Sherlock shook his hand with a smile.

“I had the honor of meeting Mr. Holmes at the WHO conference in… Brussels, was it?”

“Vienna,” Sherlock confirmed.

“Vienna, that’s it. This is Mr. Mycroft Holmes, Major. There’s obviously been a mistake.”

Barrymore nodded to Lyon, signaling him to stop the alarm. He turned back to Frankland, “On your head be it, Dr Frankland.”

“I’ll show them out, Corporal.”

“Very well, sir.”

The three of you rushed out of the building, Dr Frankland jogging to keep up behind you.

“Thank you,” Sherlock threw over his shoulder.

“This is about Henry Knight, isn’t it? I thought so. I knew he wanted help, but I didn’t realize he was going to contact Sherlock Holmes! Oh, don’t worry. I know who you really are. I’m never off your website. I thought you’d be wearing the hat though.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes, “That wasn’t my hat.”

Frankland turned to John, “I hardly recognize him without the hat.”

“It wasn’t my hat,” Sherlock repeated.

“I love the blog, too, Dr. Watson.”

“Oh, cheers.”

“The pink thing. And that one about the aluminum crutch.”

“Yes.”

“You know Henry Knight?” Sherlock asked rather impatiently.

“Well, I knew his dad better. He had all sorts of mad theories about this place. Still, he was a good friend. Listen, I can’t really talk now. Here’s my cell number,” he pulled a card out of his pocket and handed it to Sherlock, “If I can help with Henry, give me a call.”

“I never did ask, Dr. Frankland, what exactly is it that you do here?”

“Ah, Mr. Holmes, I would love to tell you, but then of course, I’d have to kill you,” Frankland said with a laugh.

Sherlock didn’t take the joke, “That would be tremendously ambitious of you. Tell me about Dr. Stapleton.”

“Never speak ill of a colleague.”

“But you’d speak well of one, which you’re clearly omitting to do.”

“I do seem to be, don’t I?”

Sherlock held up Frankland’s card, “I’ll be in touch.”

“Any time.”

Sherlock turned to walk away and you peered over your shoulder to look at John. The two of you had to once again jog to keep up with him.

“So?” John questioned.

“So?” Sherlock repeated.

“What was all that about the rabbit?”

Sherlock didn’t say anything, he just adjusted his jacket and flipped up his collar.

You smiled to yourself as John said, “Oh, please, can we not do this, this time?”

Sherlock stopped by the car door, “Do what?”

“You being all mysterious with your… cheekbones and turning your coat collar up so you look cool.”

“I don’t do that,” Sherlock stated as he looked at you, confusion written on his face.

“Yeah, you do,” John said as he got in the car. 

You took a few steps up to Sherlock and grabbed onto his coat, mindlessly playing with the buttons, “You know, you do, actually. But don’t worry, it isn’t a bad thing. It makes you more attractive.”

“Is that so?” Sherlock asked you, amusement lacing his tone.

“Yeah, just a little though.”

Sherlock smiled down at you before reaching down to kiss you.

“Can you two do that another time, the rain is starting to really come down now,” John called to the two of you.

You pulled away from Sherlock and made to get into the car.

As you opened the door you said, “You know John, you don’t have to be so jealous, Sherlock has enough love for the both of us!” you joked.

You were back in the car and had been driving for several minutes, listening to the boys talk about Bluebell and what Dr. Stapleton had done when she found out that it glowed in the dark.

It made you wonder about Henry and what kinds of experiments might have been going on to make something so horrible occur.

“John, give Henry a call,” Sherlock said, breaking your thoughts.

“Sorry, what?”

“Call Henry.”

Pulling out his phone, “Okay, but why?”

“Tell him we are out and want to meet with him. Don’t go into too many details, just get his address and we will explain everything when we get there.”

“Right, okay.”

Soon you were sitting in Henry’s kitchen, admiring the view of his yard. When you’d first met him, you hadn’t pegged him for being rich. Apparently, John hadn’t either because he was almost in as much as as you were.

“There’s a couple of words, it’s what I keep seeing. 'Liberty.'”

“Liberty?” John asked.

“Liberty. And…. 'In.' It’s just that… Have you finished?” Henry asked, holding up the tea and sugar.

You smiledat Henry from over your shoulder, so he put away the tea and other ingredients while John questioned Sherlock about what the words could possibly mean, “Mean anything to you?”

Sherlock watched Henry’s movements, “Liberty in death, isn’t that the expression? The only true freedom.”

You yawned and turned back to the boys from the large window, “Yeah, but why would he keep seeing those words, it doesn’t make that much sense. I mean, why not the rest of them? I think it’s something different, but what the hell do I know.”

Henry listened to you as he swung his arms back and forth, it almost looked as though he was uncomfortable, “What now, then?”

“Sherlock’s… got a plan?” John said, unsure of himself.

“Yes,” Sherlock confirmed.

Henry looked relieved, “Right.”

“We take you back out onto the moor.”

“Okay…”

“And see if anything attacks you.”

The look of relief was gone from Henry’s face and John questioned, “What?”

“That should bring things to a head.”

“At night? You want me to go out there at night?”

“Hmm. That’s your plan. Brilliant!” John yelled sarcastically.

“Got any better ideas?”

“That’s not a plan.”

“If there is a monster out there, John, there’s only one thing to do. Find out where it lives.”

There was a moment of silence that you decided to break, “You know, I agree with Sherlock. We have to figure this out. Let’s say there is some sort of monster out there, the odds that it comes out during the day are extremely slim, so it has to be at night,” you noted the look of horror on Henry’s face and sighed, “Don’t worry, we’ll be with you. Between the three of us you’re gonna be pretty safe.”

Once you finished speaking, Sherlock looked to Henry and smiled that big, adorable, sarcastic smile of his.

Henry bent down as though he was going to be sick. You made to go to him, but he stood up straight once again and placed his hands back on the counter, “Right. Okay. You’re right, let’s do it.”

“Brilliant. We can’t go now, it’ll be in a few hours. In the meantime, let’s gather some supplies.”

**

With the smallest amount of light in the sky, the four of you made your way out on to the moor, flashlights in hand.

There was a sudden breeze and you grumbled to yourself, “Why is it every time we do stuff like this, I’m always wearing a damn dress.”

John came up beside you and nudged you lightly, “Maybe if you’d stop trying to show off for Sherlock it wouldn’t happen.”

“Hey!” you hissed, “I’m not trying to show off. I put the dress on today because I knew we were going to Baskerville, I wanted to look professional. I didn’t know we wouldn’t be going back to the room after, and I sure as hell didn’t know that we’d be walking around the woods at night.”

“You have to assume the worst, Y/N.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Sherlock called over his shoulder, “Are you two done yet? We’ve got a case to focus on.”

“Woah, alright Mr. Bossy Pants,” you turned to John and added, “And, I didn’t know that we’d have to work in silence tonight.”

John chuckled from beside you but didn’t respond. You settled on just tightening your jacket around yourself and sucking up the cold.

Eventually, it was pitch black and the four of you were in the middle of what looked like nowhere. It was getting colder and you were starting to get a little spooked; you never liked the dark and being out in the middle of it with what could be a monster on the loose just wasn’t sitting right with you.

You tried to keep to Sherlock’s side, without getting in his way too much. You knew he wouldn’t hold it against you because you were scared, but you also knew how focused he was when he got in this mood.

You didn’t hear rustling behind you so you turned around to see what happened to John. When you didn’t see him, you stopped and shone your light around in the woods.

Henry and Sherlock hadn’t stopped walking, so by now they were about thirty feet ahead of you. Your stomach dropped. You didn’t know whether to follow them or go look for John, but you sure as hell didn’t want to be alone.

You exhaled sharply and decided it wasn’t good for John to be out alone either, so you decided to turn back to look for him.

After a few minutes of walking, you’d seen John standing at the edge of a little valley with a paper and pen in his hands.

“John?”

He jumped, dropping everything.

“Hey, it’s just me, what are you doing?”

“Ah, Y/N. Uhm, I heard something. Look at this,” he handed you the paper he had just picked up off the ground.

“UMQRA?” you read aloud, “What does that mean?”

“I, I’m not sure. Where’s Sherlock?”

You sighed and looked around, “That, I don’t know. They left me when I turned back to look for you. To be honest, I don’t think either of them even noticed that we’re gone.”

“Right, okay, we should go and look for them.”

“Yeah, let’s find them and get the hell out of this place, I have a really bad feeling and I am cold and I could just keep complaining, so let’s go.”

The two of you began walking back the way you were initially, flashlights in hand and fanning back and forth. The two of you took turns whispering Sherlock's name, earning no response. 

After a few minutes of walking, you’d heard a loud thudding noise.

Of course, John began walking towards it, “John!” you half whispered, half yelled.

“Y/N, it’s fine.”

You sighed for the umpteenth time that night and moved so you were almost attached at the hip with John, your fear and anxiety growing.

As you walked, the thumping got louder and louder, even rhythmic. Finally, you saw a metal pipe with rain dropping on it and assumed there was just an animal inside trying to get out.

“Okay, John, let’s find the guys and get the hell out of-”

You were cut off by a loud howling sound in the distance. John immediately grabbed your arm and started running towards the noise.  
You’d heard the sound a few more times before you’d finally run into Henry and Sherlock.

John let go of your arm while asking, “Did you hear that?”

“We saw it. We saw it!” Henry yelled.

“Sherlock?” you questioned, moving to his side.

“No, I didn’t see anything.”

Sherlock turned and started speed walking in the assumed direction out. 

Henry jogged to be just behind you, who was struggling to keep up with Sherlock, “What? What are you talking about?”

“I didn’t see anything,” Sherlock emphasized.

Eventually, the four of you made your way back to Henry’s house. You could hear Henry, confused, trying to convince John that they had both seen something out there.

Sherlock was waiting outside and you could tell something was off. You told John that you were going to go wait with Sherlock, that you’d both be in the car whenever he was ready.

You’d gotten in the front seat beside Sherlock, but you didn’t say anything. You could see he was thinking, and that maybe he was a little scared.

John got in the car moments later and Sherlock started the car without a word.  
You looked at John in the rearview mirror, but he wasn’t paying attention, he was mindlessly staring out the window.

Turning back to Sherlock, you saw how tightly he was gripping the steering wheel, but you didn’t know what to do.

When you’d gotten back to the inn, the three of you went into the restaurant and found a few seats by the fireplace. You sat immediately next to Sherlock, leaving the seat across open for John whenever he came back from grabbing a drink.

Sherlock still hadn’t said anything, he simply stared into the fire.

You reached over and touched his arm, causing him to jump.

“Sorry… but, are you okay?”

Sherlock didn’t get a chance to answer you because John had come back then, “Well, he’s in a pretty bad way. He’s manic. Totally convinced there’s some mutant super-dog roaming the moors. And there isn’t though, is there? If people knew how to make a mutant super-dog, we’d know. It’d be for sale. I mean, that’s how it works. Listen, on the moor I saw someone signaling, Morse. I guess it’s Morse. It doesn’t seem to make much sense…”

Sherlock breathed deeply and John’s words blurred into the background. You examined Sherlock’s face, he looked beaten, and in the light it almost looked as though there were tears in his eyes.

John must have noticed too, but he didn’t say anything, he just continued listing all that you had found.

Finally, Sherlock spoke, “Henry’s right.”

You didn’t understand, John didn’t either, “What?”

“I saw it, too.”

“What?” you and John said together.

“I saw it too.”

“Just… Just a minute, you saw what?”

“A hound. Out there in the Hollow. A gigantic hound.”

John was skeptical, as were you, but the look on Sherlock’s face made you hurt. You watched as he blinked away some tears then reached out to hold his hand.

John sat up, “Uhm, look, Sherlock, we have to be rational about this. Okay, now you, of all people, can’t just…”

“John,” you warned. It wasn’t all that farfetched to believe that maybe they had seen something. After all, you had _heard_ something.

John eyed you but continued, “Let’s just stick to what we know, yes? Stick to the facts.”

Sherlock steadied his voice, “Once you’ve ruled out the impossible, whatever remains, however the improbable, must be true.”

“What does that mean?”

Sherlock picked up his drink and watched as his hands shook, “Huh. Look at that, I’m afraid. Afraid.”

“Sherlock,” you tried.

“I’ve always been able to keep myself distant. Divorce myself from feelings,” he held up his scotch, “But look, you see, body’s betraying me. Interesting, yes, emotions. The grit on the lens, the fly in the ointment.”

John looked to you, but you couldn’t say anything. So, John tried to keep the situation level, “Yeah, alright, Spock, just… take it easy. You’ve been pretty wired lately, you know you have. I think you’ve just gone out there and got yourself a bit worked up.”

“Worked up?”

“It was dark and scary,” John clarified.

“Me? There’s nothing wrong with me.”

Sherlock began shaking, clearly from anger.

“Sherlock,” you tried, whispering in your most soothing voice.

Sherlock pulled his hand from yours and rubbed his temples; the speed of his breathing increased. 

“Sherl-” John started.

“There is nothing wrong with me! Do you understand?!”

You felt the eyes of everyone in the room on the three of you, but you said nothing.

Sherlock looked to you before looking back to the fire, “You want me to prove it, yes? We’re looking for a dog, yes? A great big dog, that’s your brilliant theory. Cherchez le chien! Good. Excellent. Yes. Where shall we start? How about them? The sentimental widow and her son, the unemployed fisherman. The answer’s yes.”

“Yes?”

“She’s got a West Highland Terrier called Whisky, not exactly what we’re looking for!"

“Sherlock, for god’s sake!” John whispered.

Sherlock ignored him, “Look at his jumper, hardly worn. Clearly he’s uncomfortable in it. Maybe because of the material, though likely the hideous pattern, suggests it’s a present, probably Christmas. So, he wants into his mother’s good books. Why? Almost certainly money. He’s treating her to a meal, but his own portion is small. That means he wants to impress her, but he’s trying to economize on his own food.”

John sighed, “Well maybe he’s just not hungry.”

“No, small plate, starter. He’s practically licked it clean. She’s nearly finished her pavlova. If she’d treated him, he’d have had as much as he wanted. He’s hungry alright and not well-off, you can tell that by his cuffs and shoes. “How do you know she’s his mother?” Who else would give him a Christmas present like that? Well, it could be an aunt or older sister, but mother’s more likely. Now, he was a fisherman, the scarring on the back of his hands, very distinctive. Fish hooks. They’re old, quite old, suggesting he’s been unemployed for some time. Not much industry in this part of the world, so he’s turned to his widowed mother for help. “Widowed?” Yes, obviously. She’s got a man’s wedding ring on a chain around her neck, clearly her late husband’s and too big for her finger. She’s well dressed, but her jewelry is cheap. She could afford better, but she’s kept it, sentimental. Now. The dog? There are little, tiny hairs all over her leg from it being too friendly, but no hairs above the knees, suggesting it’s a small dog, probably a terrier. In fact, it is, a West Highland Terrier, called Whisky. “How the hell do you know that, Sherlock?” She was on the same train as us and I heard her calling its name, and that’s not cheating, that’s listening. I use my senses, John, unlike some people, so you see, I am fine. And in fact, I’ve never been better, so, just leave me alone!”

John relented, “Yeah, okay. Okay. Why would you listen to me? I’m just your friend.”

“I don’t have friends,” Sherlock snapped.

“No, I wonder why. Hmm,” John got up and left, leaving you with Sherlock.

You stood up to leave, “You know, John cares about you. You mean everything to him. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he loves you. I understand what you’re feeling Sherlock, but for you to sit there and say you don’t have friends is a load of shit. When you come to your senses, I’ll be in the room. I don’t know about John, but when you see him, you need to apologize.”

With that, you left Sherlock alone in front of the fire. You felt bad, sure, but after that freak out, you were just exhausted. You knew everything would be fine in the morning, but you couldn’t help but worry about John.

**

The next morning, you woke up alone. The bed beside you was cold, signaling Sherlock never came back. You sat up and rubbed the sleep from your eyes.

Today, you’d decided to dress down, settling on a pair of leggings and a hoodie. You ran a brush through your hair and put some makeup on before changing.

As you put on your sneakers, you pulled out your phone and sent a text to John.

_Good morning! Where are you?_

He answered almost immediately.

 _Sitting on the stairs of the church. Just a little walk from the room_.

You got up and left almost instantly, pulling your jacket around you and sliding your phone into your pocket.

Eventually you’d seen John sitting there and made your way to sit next to him, “Hey.”

“Hey.”

“Did you come back to the room last night?”

John looked at you, “Uhm, yeah. It was late and you were asleep. Then, I left early and I didn’t want to wake you.”

“It’s okay, how are you feeling? Have you talked to Sherlock today?”

“No. I haven’t seen him since last night. But, why should I care, he’s fine and doesn’t have friends, remember?”

You sighed, “You know he didn’t mean that, John. He was scared, you saw that. He just didn’t know how to react. His first instinct was to push you away. I left right after you, I thought he needed space. I hope he’s okay…”

You looked out over the pathway of the cemetery and saw Sherlock approaching. You nudged John and stood up.

Sherlock smiled uncomfortably, “Did you uh, get anywhere with that Morse code?”

“Nah,” John said as he got up and walked away from the two of you.

“UMQRA, wasn’t it? Umqra.”

“Nothing.”

You and Sherlock followed, him testing out different ways of pronouncing the letters, “umqra.”

“Look, forget it. I thought I was onto something, I wasn’t.”

“Sure?”

“Yeah.”

“How about Louise Mortimer, did you get anywhere with her?”

“No.”

“Louise? When were you with her?” You asked from beside Sherlock.

John looked back at you and gave you a funny look.

Sherlock continued on, “Too bad. But did you get any information?”

“Hmm, you’re being funny now?”

“Thought it might break the ice, a bit.”

“Funny doesn’t suit you, let’s stick to ice.”

“John.”

“It’s fine,” John refused to stop walking.

“No, wait. What happened last night, something happened to me, something I’ve not really experienced before.”

“Yeah, you said. Fear, Sherlock Holmes got scared, you said.”

Sherlock reached forward and grabbed John’s arm, spinning him around to face him, “No, no, no. It was more than that, John. It was doubt. I felt doubt. I’ve always been able to trust my senses, the evidence of my own eyes, until last night.”

John rolled his eyes, “You can’t actually believe that you saw some kind of monster?”

“No, I can’t believe that. But I did see it, so the question is, how? How?”

“Yes,” John mocked, “Yeah, right, good. So you’ve got something to go on, then. Good luck with that.”

John walked away, and you shoved Sherlock lightly, “Sherlock, apologize,” you whispered.

He looked at you and you watched as his eyes scanned your face, it was almost as though he was reading a script.

He grabbed your hand then looked to the ground and cleared his throat, “Listen, what I said before, John, I meant it. I don’t have friends, I’ve just got one.”

John looked stunned, “Right,” he said as he walked away again.

“Ugh, John! He doesn’t mean me!” You called as you jogged to catch up to him.

You heard Sherlock from behind you, “John. John! You are amazing! You are fantastic!”

“Yes, alright, you don’t have to overdo it.”

“You may not be the most luminous of people, but as a conductor of light, you are unbeatable.”

By now, you had caught up to John and Sherlock had passed the two of you.

“Cheers, what?”

“Some people who aren’t geniuses have an amazing ability to stimulate it in others.”

“Hang on, you were saying sorry a minute ago, don’t spoil it. So go on, what have I don’t that’s so bloody stimulating?”

Sherlock turned back around and showed his notebook, written on the page was the word “hound.”

“What about it?” you asked.

“What if it’s not a word, what if it is individual letters?”

“You think it’s an acronym?”

“Absolutely no idea, but-”

When Sherlock stopped talking you followed his line of sight into the restaurant. When you saw what he saw, you barked out a laugh, “Greg!”

Sherlock shoved his notebook into his pocket and charged forward, “What the hell are you doing here?”

“Oh, nice to see you to. I’m on holiday, would you believe?”

“No, I wouldn’t.”

“Hello John, Y/N. I heard you were in the area, what are you up to? Are you after this Hound of Hell, like on the telly?” Lestrade mocked.

“I’m waiting for an explanation, Inspector, why are you here?”

“I’ve told you, I’m on holiday.”

“You’re brown as a nut, you’re clearly just back from your holidays.”

“Maybe I fancied another one.”

“Ah, this is Mycroft, isn’t it?”

“Now, look…”

“Of course it is. One mention of Baskerville and he sends down my handler to spy on me, incognito. Is that why you’re calling yourself “Greg?””

You stepped in front of Sherlock and urged him to look at you, “Babe, that’s his name.”

“Is it?”

You laughed and Lestrade answered, “Yes, if you’d ever bothered to find out. Look, I’m not your handler. And I just don’t do what your brother tells me.”

John stepped forward, “Actually, you could be just the man we want.”

“Why?”

“Well, I’ve not been idle, Sherlock, I think I might have found something. Here, I didn’t know if it was relevant. Starting to look like it might be. That is an awful lot of meat for a vegetarian restaurant.”

“Excellent.”

“A nice, scary inspector from Scotland Yard, who can put in a few calls, might come in very handy.”

Soon, Lestrade was sitting with the owners of the restaurant and you were standing off to the side watching the interaction with John and Sherlock. You smiled to yourself, silently proud of Sherlock for coming so far. It was cute how he thought he had to keep apologizing.

When Lestrade came to the conclusion that the owner’s dog was dead, he got up to leave with John following.

You turned to Sherlock, “Hey, I’m gonna go outside with them, okay?”

He smiled and leaned forward to place a kiss on your cheek.

You blushed and hurried to catch up with the guys, hearing part of their conversation.

“Appeals to his… his…” Lestrade tried to get out.

“Asperger’s?” John finished for him.

You gave John a questioning look then Sherlock came to stand beside you.

Lestrade quickly covered his ass, “So, you believe them about having the dog destroyed?”

“No reason not to.”

“Well hopefully there’s no harm done. I’m not quite sure what I’d charge them with, anyway. I’ll have a word with the local force. Alright, that’s that then, I’ll talk to you later. I’m enjoying this. It’s nice to get London out of your lungs.”

“Seeya, Greg,” you called after him.

“So, that was their dog that people saw out on the moor?” John asked you.

You shrugged and Sherlock responded, “Looks like it.”

“But that wasn’t what you saw, that wasn’t just an ordinary dog.”

“No, it was immense. It had burning red eyes, and it was glowing, its whole body was glowing….” Sherlock snapped out of his phase, “I’ve got a theory, but I need to get back into Baskerville to test it.”

“How? Can’t pull off the ID trick again.”

“Might not have to…. Hello, brother, dear. How are you?”

You pulled the phone from Sherlock’s hands, “Hey, Mycroft. Your adorable baby brother and his charming sidekick seem to forget who I work for. Sherlock was calling to see what strings you can pull to allow us to break into Baskerville again, but I think I can handle this. Talk soon,” you hung up before Mycroft could even answer you and you felt proud of yourself.

“Listen boys, I can get us in. Don’t involve Mycroft more than is necessary. You know Sherlock, Lestrade is only here because you used Mycroft’s card. Let me handle this.”

You turned to walk away, but not before swiping the keys to the car from Sherlock’s pocket.

You made it to the car and got into the driver’s seat, confident in your ability to pull this off. John got in behind you and allowed Sherlock the spot up front beside you.

Eventually, you were all back inside of Baskerville and you went about your separate ways, Sherlock to see Major Barrymore, John to the labs, and you to the camera room to keep an eye out for any suspicious activity.

You were sitting in a chair watching the monitors when you spotted John on one. You were confused about what he was doing, even more so when he tried to swipe Mycroft’s badge and nothing happened.

Suddenly, the door opened behind you and you jumped from your seat.

“Relax, it’s just me.”

“Sherlock, what the hell?”

“I told you, I needed to test a theory, this is it.”

You turned back to the monitor and watched John, moving around in the dark. From his silhouette, you could tell he was scared, “What’s wrong with him, Sherlock?”

Your phone was ringing in your hand, “Don’t answer it.”

“Why?”

“Just, don’t,” he pulled up a chair beside you, “I’ll call him in a moment.”

You waited a few more seconds, watching as John moved to climb inside one of the large cages.

Sherlock slowly pulled his phone from his jacket pocket and dialed John’s number then put it on speaker so you could hear, “Please, Y/N, don’t say a word.”

You nodded, sitting silently as you heard John’s voice come through the phone.

 _"It’s here. It’s in here with me_."

“Where are you?” Sherlock asked.

_"Get me out, Sherlock, you’ve got to get me out. The big lab, the first lab that we saw… Oh!"_

“John… John?”

_"Now, Sherlock! Please!"_

“Alright, I’ll find you. Keep talking.” Sherlock got up and made to leave, gesturing to himself then to the screen John was on.

He then pointed at you and held up his hand showing you one finger. You took this as meaning he wanted you to wait there and you nodded.

 _"I can’t, it’ll hear me_."

“Keep talking. What are you seeing? John?”

 _"Yes, I’m here_."

Sherlock took the phone off speaker, “What can you see?”

There was only a minute or two that passed until you saw Sherlock on the screen in front of John. You watched as John rushed passed him and frantically looked around.

The two of them were standing there talking and you wished you could hear what they were saying.

Then, Sherlock looked up at one of the cameras and once again held one finger up before the two of them exited the lab.

Moments later the door opened and Sherlock rushed you out, “Come on Y/N, we need to go.”

“Sherlock what’s wrong?”

“My theory was correct, we’ve been drugged.”

“Drugged?” you looked over at John who just shrugged his shoulders, “What do you mean we’ve been drugged? How?”

Sherlock ignored you and led you all down the hall to another room, when it opened, you saw Dr. Stapleton standing over a rabbit, “Oh, back again? What’s on your mind this time?”

“Murder, Dr. Stapleton. Refined, cold-blooded murder.” Sherlock reached around you and shut off the lights, showing the glowing rabbit on the table, “Will you tell little Kirsty what happened to Bluebell, or shall I?”

She sighed, “Okay, what do you want?”

“Can I borrow your microscope?”

She nodded and you watched as Sherlock crushed different bits and examined them.

You ignored the conversation that Dr. Stapleton was having with John, despite Sherlock’s curiosity obviously being peaked. 

It wasn’t until Sherlock threw the samples at the wall and announced the drugs weren’t in the sugar that you began to listen again.

“Sugar, yes. A simple process of elimination. I saw the hound, saw it as my imagination expected me to see it. A genetically engineered monster. But I knew I couldn’t believe the evidence of my own eyes, so there were seven possible reasons for it, the most possible being narcotics. Henry Knight, he saw it too, but you and Y/N didn’t. You didn’t see it. Now we have eaten and drunken the same things since we got to Grimpen, apart from one thing. You, John, don’t take sugar in your coffee. And you haven’t had any coffee, have you, Y/N?”

You shook your head no and John questioned, “I see, so?”

“I took it from Henry’s kitchen, his sugar. It’s perfectly alright.”

You sighed, “But maybe it’s not a drug.”

“No, it has to be a drug. But how did it get into our systems? How?” Sherlock had his eyes closed, and his hands outstretched in front of him, something he always did when visualizing things in his head. “Something… something buried deep.” Sherlock turned, “Get out.”

“What?” Dr. Stapleton asked.

“Get out, I need to go to my mind palace.”

“Your what?”

John stood up and guided you out, his hand on your back, “He’s not going to be doing much talking for a while, we may as well go.”

Dr. Stapleton rushed forward, “His what?”

“Oh, his “mind palace.” It’s a memory technique, a sort of mental map. You plot a map with a location, it doesn’t have to be a real place, and then you deposit memories there. Theoretically, you can never forget anything. All you have to do is find your way back to it.”

Dr. Stapleton’s curiosity was starting to annoy you, “So this imaginary location could be anything, a house or a street?”

“Yeah,” John confirmed.

“But he said “palace,” he said it was a palace?”

You smiled, “Yeah, well, he would, wouldn’t he?”

You gave one last look at Sherlock, taking in his slight movements as he moved through his mind palace, before leaving behind John and Dr. Stapleton.

You were sitting in a room with the two of them, waiting for Sherlock to figure everything out. You’d set your head down on the table and began to fall asleep.

Before you could though, Sherlock came back though announcing, “Liberty, Indiana. And HOUND is an acronym. For what? I don’t know. That’s what we need to figure out.”

The four of you made your way to another room, a computer lab of sorts. Dr. Stapleton attempted to gain access but her clearance didn’t go far enough, so you watched as Sherlock worked his magic attempting to figure out what Major Barrymore’s password was.

Sherlock figured it out in under a minute and soon the four of you were reading just what “hound” was.

Sherlock spoke, “Project HOUND. A new deliriant drug which rendered its users incredibly suggestible. They wanted to use it as an anti-personnel weapon, to totally disorientate the enemy using fear and stimulus. But they shut it down and hid it away in 1986.”

Dr. Stapleton spoke up from behind you, “Because of what it did to the subjects they tested on.”

“And what they did to others. Prolonged exposure drove them insane. Made them almost uncontrollably aggressive.”

“So, someone’s been doing it again? Carrying on the experiments?” John wondered aloud.

“Attempting to refine it, perhaps. For the last twenty years.”

“Who though?” you asked.

John turned to Dr. Stapleton, “Those names mean anything to you?”

She read them over, “No, not a thing.”

Sherlock sighed, “Five principal scientists. Twenty years ago. Maybe our friend’s somewhere in the back of the picture? Someone who’s old enough to be there at the time of the experiments in 1986? Maybe someone who says “cell phone” because of time spent in America? You remember, John?”

He agreed and you thought back to Dr. Frankland. You hadn’t thought anything of it at the time because you sometimes say “cell phone.”

“He gave us his number, in case we needed him.”

Dr. Stapleton sounded amazed, “Oh my god, Bob Frankland. But Bob doesn’t work on… He’s a virologist. This is chemical warfare.”

“It’s where he started though,” Sherlock said, “And he’s never lost the certainty, the obsession that that drug really could work. Nice of him to give us his number. Let’s arrange a little meeting.”

After Louise called John and explained about Henry, the three of you made your out into the hollow. Sherlock called Lestrade before arranging the meeting with Frankland though, and you all rushed to find Henry.

When you did, you were surrounded by fog standing above him. You heard a gun cock and you rushed down to stop him. You heard Sherlock explaining about HOUND, and you stood with your hands up, showing that you weren’t a threat.

When Henry freaked out and tried to put the gun back to his mouth you moved to him, slowly but efficiently, taking the gun from his hands.

Lestrade came running down to where the four of you were standing, “Sherlock!”

Henry muttered in disbelief, “But we saw it, the hound, last night. We did, we s-”

Sherlock spoke softly now, “No, but there was a dog, Henry, leaving footprints, scaring witnesses, but it was nothing more than an ordinary dog. We both saw it, saw it as our drugged minds wanted us to see it. Fear and stimulus, that’s how it works. But there never was any monster.”

Just as Sherlock had finished speaking, there was a loud growling in the distance.

“Sherlock?”

Henry began to panic again, “No! No, no, no, no!”

Sherlock tried to calm him, “Henry, Henry.”

“Sherlock?” John repeated for you.

Henry continued to panic and you couldn’t help but be afraid. There was a monstrous thing in front of you now, glowing red eyes and sharp teeth. It was coming towards you and moved to stand beside Sherlock, grabbing onto him.

Sherlock was now panicking almost as much as Henry was and you couldn’t do anything to help. You didn’t know what was happening.

It wasn’t until Sherlock had Dr. Frankland in his grasp that he realized where the drug was, “It’s the fog, the drug, it’s in the fog! Aerosol dispersant, that’s what it said in the records. Project HOUND, it’s the fog! A chemical minefield.”

The beast kept coming towards all of you and you were scared out of your mind, but you were seeing through the drug, you could see it was just an ordinary dog, sort of like Fang, Hagrid’s dog in Harry Potter.

This didn’t last though, the drug was messing with you, the sight kept switching between horrid beast and friendly dog.

“For god’s sake, kill it! Kill it!” Dr. Frankland screamed.

“No! Don’t!” you yelled.

Lestrade shot, missing each time. John ran up behind you and pulled Henry’s gun from your hands, firing two rounds at the dog, killing it.

Sherlock grabbed Henry, “Look at it, Henry. Look at it!”

“No, no, no!” Henry fought back.

Finally he gave in and saw what you had seen. Henry launched himself at Frankland, screaming about the last twenty years.

Sherlock was ranting, going on about how brilliant he is. John tried to stop him, explain how the timing was off, but it was fine, Henry realized everything was okay.

Another dog came and John killed that one too, giving Frankland the opportunity to run.

The four of you chased after him but you yelled for them to stop when you saw Frankland stop. You realized he had stepped on a mine and you watched as the man blew up before your eyes.

Now that you were out of the fog, you were starting to think clearly and you dropped down to the ground, sighing in relief. You saw John and Sherlock continue to stare at the blaze, while Henry relaxed against a tree.

“Now that this is over, can we please get out of here? I’ve had enough of the scary, dark woods to last me a lifetime.”

They all laughed, but no one moved.

Eventually, you all got up and made your way to the car. You took Henry home and gave Louise a ride home, explaining that it was all over.

John walked her to her door and you watched as she thanked John with a kiss to the cheek.

**

The next morning, you were ready to head back to Baker Street.

You sat across from John as he ate breakfast, standing up to take the coffeec ups from Sherlock’s hands as he sat down.

“Thank you,” you kissed him and took your place across from John again.

“Aren’t you going to eat anything, Y/N?”

“Uhm, no, I’m not hungry.”

John scoffed, “You, not hungry? You’re always hungry.”

You laughed dryly, “Yeah, I guess I’m still not right from the past few days. I’m okay though, I’ll eat when we get home, maybe.”

Sherlock had gone to speak to the owners, announcing, “I have to see a man about a dog.”

You watched him walk away, staring blankly at the point between his broad shoulders.

All you could think about was the conversation you’d had with Mycroft earlier that morning while the boys were getting ready.

_You’d stepped out to take the call, knowing they couldn’t hear you._

_“What is it Mycroft?”_

"When will you be back, Y/N? I’ve been informed the case has been solved."

_“Ah, cheating on me with Lestrade are you, Myk? That hurts. I think we are catching the next train, it comes in about an hour and a half. We should be back late afternoon, why, what’s wrong?”_

_You were met with silence and you had to pull the phone away from your ear to make sure that you hadn’t been disconnected, “Mycroft?”_

"Get here as soon as you can, I need you to see something _."_

_“What the hell does that mean?” you yelled._

_You noticed a few people looked at you as they walked and you lowered your voice to a whisper, “What the hell does that mean, Mycroft. What happened?”_

"It’s Moriarty. I have to let him go soon. The latest I can hold him ‘til is tomorrow. But you need to see something before he’s out."

 _You pulled the phone from your ear and hung up without giving him a response_.

John cleared his throat, pulling you from your thoughts. You looked at him and raised your eyebrows in question, wondering if you missed something.

“I’m just wondering, is it possible for you to go five minutes without staring dreamily after Sherlock?”

“I- I wasn’t,” you defended yourself, “I was just, thinking…”

“About what?” John wondered.

You looked to Sherlock who was walking back to the table, then back to John, “Well, we should get going. We have to make the next train. I forgot to tell you, but I have to go into work.”

“Work? Why do you have to go to work? Didn’t Mycroft send Lestrade here, why does he need you to tell him what happened?” Sherlock asked you.

You stood up and put your bag on your shoulder, pulling your hair out from under the strap, “He doesn’t, not really. It’s just I’m more reliable, I guess. But I have to be there, so let’s go, okay?”

John took a few more bites of his food before getting up and gathering his own things.

Eventually the three of you were sitting in a private cabin on the train and enjoying the relaxation of it all.

John spoke up, “You know, as fun as this was, I’m looking forward to being back to Baker Street.”

“Yeah, you know, me too. I like the country, but I’ve gotten used to the hustle and bustle of the city.”

Sherlock wrapped his arm around you and pulled you into his side. You put your head on his shoulder and smiled when he rested his head on yours.

John watched with a smile and you loved how happy he was for the two of you.

Although you were outwardly smiling, your thoughts were dark and filled with Moriarty. 


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally got this up, yay.
> 
>  
> 
> Unedited. I'll reread it a few times and find any mistakes, thanks :)*
> 
> *If you see I wrote "Sherlcok" please tell me! It happens when I'm typing fast and I unfortunately won't notice when I go back over it

Over the course of the next few months, Sherlock and John had solved various crimes and were quickly gaining popularity. You wanted to be there to celebrate with them, but Mycroft had other plans.

You were in Germany working on a case which had taken so much longer than you had originally thought. It was almost two months now and you hadn’t seen Sherlock or John since.

When you heard though that the Lestrade would be holding a little celebration in Sherlock’s honor at Scotland Yard, you couldn’t miss it. 

You were sitting off to the side, somewhere Sherlock wouldn’t notice, listening to Lestrade make his sarcastic remarks.

Knowing he was finishing up, you stood up and went to the podium, grabbing the small bundle he had in his hands and bringing it over to Sherlock.

“Y/N?” John remarked.

You smiled at the confused looks on their faces, “I just got back, I couldn’t miss this,” you handed Sherlock the packaging from Lestrade and added, “I’m surprised you didn’t notice me before, you being detectives and all.”

“We all chipped in,” Lestrade added excitedly from beside you.

Sherlock unwrapped the paper and let out a sarcastic, “Oh!” followed by a look of utter disgust.

Someone in the crowd shouted, “Put the hat on!”

And suddenly everyone in the crowd was in agreement.

“Just get it over with,” John commented.

You stepped forward and took the hat from Sherlock’s hands and made swift work of putting it on his head. You took a step back to admire your work, a smile on your face.

The crowd started clapping and the cameras were flashing. You went to move off the stage, but Sherlock grabbed your hand and pulled you to his side.

 _I guess if he’s gotta do this, so do I_ , you thought.

Later that day you were sitting in the apartment drinking tea and munching on some grapes. You had the rest of the day off, and you thought you were going to enjoy some peace and quiet, but of course, John had other plans.

He was sitting at the table, a spread of magazines and newspapers in front of him. He said something about Sherlock’s nickname and was growing frustrated by the nickname he’d received: Bachelor. 

You were going to say something, but you were too preoccupied watching Sherlock fiddle with the hat. He was analyzing it and mumbling to himself about what it could be, before he tossed it at John.

Next thing you knew, the two of them were arguing about Sherlock’s fame and how it wasn’t good for him.

“I don’t understand, why would it upset you?”

John ignored the question, “Just try to keep a low profile. Find yourself a little case this week,” he finished, offering Sherlock the hat back, “Stay out of the news.”

You stood up and took the hat from John before placing it on your head, “John’s right, Sherlock, you should be more careful. We care about you and we don’t want this to turn sour.”

Sherlock looked at you and let your words sink in. He seemed to accept them because he didn’t say anything, he just went on staring into space.

After a few minutes you announced that you were going to take a nap and that you would see them both later.

About two hours passed when you woke up and you could hear the shower running. You figured it was John because Sherlock never showered during the day unless he had an actual reason to.

You moseyed out of bed, careful not to fall. When you entered the living room, you saw a dummy hanging from the ceiling. You stopped and turned to find Sherlock who was in the kitchen, examining something under his microscope.

You let out a sound, about to ask about the dummy, but decided against it. Instead, you went to sit in the kitchen with Sherlock and look over everything he had out.

Moments later, John came out wearing nothing but his robe, “So, did you just talk to him for a really long time?”

You laughed and Sherlock looked up at you before looking to the dummy hanging by its neck a few feet away, “Oh. Henry Fishguard never committed suicide. Bow Street Runners missed everything!”

“Pressing case, is it?” John teased from his seat in the living room.

“They’re all pressing ‘til they’re solved.”

“Yeah, you say that, but you won’t take ninety percent of cases your shown because they aren’t interesting enough,” you argued.

Sherlock peaked at you out the corner of his eye, a smirk on his face. He didn’t say anything though, he just continued looking into the microscope.

As you were sitting there, your phone was repeatedly vibrating with texts.

You picked up the device and scrolled through, seeing messages from Sally and Mycroft.

“What the hell?” you whispered to yourself.

You read through all of the break ins and you were extremely confused.

After a minute or two, Sherlock’s phone chimed.

“I’ll get it, shall I?” John said.

He walked into the kitchen to hand Sherlock his phone, “Here.”

“Not now, I’m busy,” Sherlock said flatly.

“Sherlock.”

“Not now.”

“He’s back.”

You looked up at John and stood to go to Sherlock so you could read over his shoulder, _Come and play. Tower Hill. Jim Moriarty x._

You ran into the living room and put the TV on. Filling the screen were images of police cars swarming all of the break in areas, as well as live footage of Moriarty being escorted to a police car.

You quickly dialed into your phone and held it up to your ear, “Lestrade, where are you?”

_“Heading back to the station now, why?”_

“Do you know it was Moriarty?”

_“Just got word of it, yea.”_

“We’ll meet you there.”

Without another word you hung up the phone and slid a pair of flats on, “Let’s go,” you announced.

“Uhm, where exactly are we going?” John questioned from behind you as you made your way down the stairs.

“Scotland Yard. Moriarty will be there. I need to figure this out. If you don’t want to come, fine. But I’m going.”

Soon, you were at the station, standing in a small room with your boys and Lestrade, looking at a monitor with security footage.

You could see Moriarty doing something to the glass case surrounding the crown jewels and Lestrade mumbled, “That glass is tougher than anything.”

“Not tougher than crystalized carbon,” Sherlock corrected, “He used a diamond.”

“Wait, rewind that,” you instructed.

Lestrade did as you asked and you quickly paused it. On the screen you saw what Moriarty had written on the glass before he shattered it, “ _Get Sherlock_.”

You took a deep breath, “How long is it going to be until his trial?”

Lestrade thought for a second, “Two, maybe three days.”

You turned to John, “We need to get Sherlock ready for this. I have a feeling he’s going to be the key witness.”

**

Sure enough, the newspapers were flooded with images of what had happened, including one that said, “ _amateur detective to be called as expert witness.”_

You were shaking, anger pulsing through you. The morning of the trial though, you did your best to stay calm for Sherlock.

You were wearing a simple black dress and heels, surprised to be ready before the boys were. You walked over to help Sherlock button his shirt; He looked distracted.

The three of you made your way down the stairs and you could hear the commotion outside the door.

“You ready?” John asked.

Sherlock nodded, “Yes.”

You grabbed Sherlock’s hand and led him outside, pulling him with you through the crowd.

It felt like hours before you made it to the car, there were so many reporters.

You ignored them and continued pulling Sherlock along until the two of you were safely in the car, John following shortly behind you.

The three of you sat in silence for some time until John broke it, “Remember,” he started.

“Yes.” Sherlock interrupted.

John tried again, “Remember-”

“Yes.”

John took a deep breath, “Remember what they told you. Don’t try to be clever.”

“No,” Sherlock agreed sarcastically.

John ignored him, continuing, “And please, just keep it simple and brief.”

“God forbid the star witness in the trial should come across as intelligent,” Sherlock spat bitterly.

John choked out a laugh, “Intelligent, fine. Let’s give smartass a wide berth.”

“I’ll just be myself.”

“Are you listening to me?” John urged.

You didn’t say anything, you were thinking about the last time you’d seen Moriarty.

_You were with Mycroft on some maximum security island, you hadn’t expected to see him there. It wasn’t until you’d started to argue that you were told Mycroft invited him there. Moriarty’s actions made your skin crawl, and you’d be lying if you said you weren’t still mad about how he almost blew you up._

You were pulled from your thoughts as John announce, “We’re here.”

You took a deep breath and got out of the car, pulling Sherlock with you.

Once inside you turned to him, “Listen. You’re going to be separated from John and I. We’ll be up in the stands but you’ll be held with the other witnesses, if there are any.”

You could tell Sherlock wasn’t listening, he was looking past you to the room he’d be entering soon.

“Sherlock,” you guided his face down to yours, “Just, do what John said and we’ll see you soon.”

Pulling his head down a little further, you stood up on your tippy toes and pressed your lips to his.

Once you pulled away, John put his hand at the small of your back and guided you down the hall to the staircase.

“Do you think he’s gonna do alright?” you asked.

“Well, you know Sherlock. He probably didn’t hear one word either of us said to him.”

You looked over your shoulder at John and gave a disappointed look before climbing the rest of the stairs.

At the top, there was a door then another little hallway that led into the upper auditorium. You and John shuffled in and sat where you could see Sherlock as well as keep an eye on Moriarty when they got there.

Within minutes, the room below filled and you watched as Moriarty was led to a little podium. Soon, the judge came in announcing the trial and called for the first witness, Sherlock.

You took a deep breath and John gave your knee a comforting squeeze.

“Please state your name for the court.”

“Sherlock Holmes.”

“And you are… a consulting criminal.”

“Yes,” Sherlock agreed.

“Your words. Can you expand on that answer?”

“James Moriarty is for hire.”

“A tradesman?”

“Yes,” Sherlock agreed sarcastically.

“But not the sort who’d fix your heating?”

“No, the sort who’d plant a bomb or stage an assassination, but I’m sure he’d make a pretty decent job of your boiler.”

Laughter echoed throughout the courtroom, but you knew where this was going.

The barrister continued, “Would you describe him as-”

Sherlock cut her off, “Leading.”

“What?”

“Can’t do that, you’re leading the witness. He’ll object and the judge will uphold.”

“Mr. Holmes,” the judge sighed.

“Ask me how. How would I describe him? What opinion have I formed of him? Did they not teach you this?”

The judge sighed again, “Mr. Holmes, we’re fine without your help.”

The barrister corrected herself, “How would you describe this man, his character?”

“First mistake. James Moriarty isn’t a man at all. He’s a spider. A spider at the center of a web. A criminal web with a thousand threads and he knows precisely how each and every single one of them dances.”

You weren’t quite sure, but you thought you could see Moriarty agreeing with each word Sherlock uttered.

The barrister cleared her throat, “And how long-”

“No, no, don’t… don’t do that. That’s really not a good question.”

“Oh, shut up Sherlock,” you whispered to yourself.

“Mr. Holmes!” the judge warned.

“How long have I known him? Not really your best line of inquiry. We met twice, five minutes in total. I pulled a gun, he tried to blow me up. I felt we had a special something.”

The judge spoke, disbelief lacing his tone, “Miss Sorrel, are you seriously claiming this man is an expert? After knowing the accused for just five minutes?”

Sherlock interrupted, “Two minutes would have made me an expert. Five was ample.”

“Mr. Holmes, that’s a matter for the jury.”

“Oh, god, Sherlock, don’t,” you whispered again.

You were leaning forward now, ringing your hands in your lap.

John put your hand on your back in attempt to comfort you, but that did nothing considering Sherlock continued to be a smartass and was in the process of being thrown out of the courtroom and led to a holding cell.

The judge called for a break for the rest of the day, announcing court would resume at eight the next morning. You stood up and ran to the steps.

“Y/N, wait!”

“John I’m gonna go get him.”

“Okay I’ll come with you.”

“Fine but don’t move so slow,” you teased.

When you’d made it down the stairs, you made a left, going the opposite direction of where you’d come in. Eventually, you made it down to the holding area and got one of the guards.

He explained to you how much the bail would be and you agreed, waiting silently as he went to retrieve Sherlock and bring him to you.

As you wrote a check for the bail, you could hear John berating Sherlock.

You didn’t want anything to do with it, you just wanted to get Sherlock back to the apartment and not deal with any of this for as long as you could.

John continued talking to Sherlock about the situation, but you simply went to the kitchen to get some water.

When they finished talking, you went out to the living room, “Look, I don’t want to deal with this anymore tonight. Sherlock won’t be allowed back into the courthouse, so that leaves you tomorrow John. I’ve got work I need to do.”

The two of them looked at you skeptically, but didn’t say anything.

The next morning, you were helping John get ready, “Let me know what happens, okay? We’ll both be here.”

John nodded and made his way to leave again. Sherlock was sitting in his chair, his hands steepled under his chin, “You know,” you started, “If you didn’t act like such a smartass yesterday, you’d be there.”

“I can’t help it, Y/N.”

“I don’t believe that, I think you did all that out of spite.”

Sherlock smirked at you then continued to sit in silence.

You made your way over to the couch and pulled your laptop towards you, ready to wait out the day.

Sherlock began muttering to himself about an hour later. You’d looked up at him to see if he was talking to you, but he wasn’t. He was staring into space whispering words as though he were reading out of a textbook.

As soon as he finished though, his phone rang, making you jump.

You assumed it was John and you sat forward, anticipating what he was telling Sherlock.

You couldn’t hear him and Sherlock said nothing, he simply listened before hanging up the phone.

Sherlock stood up and made his way to the kitchen. You followed him and watched as he prepared the kettle, “Sherlock, what’s wrong?"

“Not guilty.”

“Holy shit,” you whispered.

Sherlock set a tray with tea and made to pick up his violin.

You watched, slightly panicked, slightly irritated, you knew he’d be going there, to your home.

You took a deep breath and tried to calm yourself by listening to the music coming from Sherlock’s violin. Halfway through you’d heard a creak on the stairs and Sherlock stopped playing momentarily, and glanced your way.

You gave him a nod which he responded by resuming his playing.

The door opened as Sherlock finished the piece, “Most people knock. Although you’re not most people, I suppose. Kettle’s just boiled.”

Moriarty walked over to the table and gave you a smile that sent chills down your spine.

He picked up an apple from the bowl on the table, “Johann Sebastian would be appalled,” he looked around the room, taking in his surroundings, “May I?”

Sherlock turned around and motioned to John’s seat with his bow, “Please.”

Instead, Moriarty made his way over and sat down in Sherlock’s chair, “You know, while he was on his deathbed, Bach, he heard his son at the piano playing one of his pieces. The boy stopped before he got to the end.”

“And the dying man jumped out of his bed, ran straight to the piano and finished it.”

“Couldn’t cope with an unfinished melody.”

“Neither can you. It’s why you’ve come.”

“But be honest, you’re just a tiny bit pleased.”

“What? With the verdict?”

“With me, back on the streets. Every fairy tale needs a good old-fashioned villain. You need me, or you’re nothing. Because we’re just alike, you and I. Except you’re boring. You’re on the side of the angels.”

The conversation blurred out in front of you, you didn’t want to listen anymore. You were terrified because you knew Moriarty had a morbid obsession with Sherlock and there he was, sitting in your living room, having tea with him.

You tuned back in moments later, catching the last bit of Moriarty speaking, “”Daddy loves me the best!” Aren’t ordinary people adorable? Well, you know. You’ve got John. I should get myself a live-in one,” he turned to you, “What about you beautiful, would you want to come and live with me?”

Sherlock didn’t let you answer, “Why are you doing all of this?”

“It must be so funny,” Moriarty wondered to himself.

“You don’t want money or power, not really. What is it all for?”

Moriarty leaned forward in his chair, “I want to solve the problem. Our problem. The final problem. It’s going to start very soon, Sherlock. The fall. But don’t be scared. Falling’s just like flying except there’s a more permanent destination.”

Sherlock stood up, “I never liked riddles.”

Moriarty mimicked his actions, “Learn to. Because I owe you a fall, Sherlock. I owe you.”

Your breathing increased as you watched the scene in front of you. Moriarty made to leave, stopping in front of you.

You stood up, trying to be brave. Moriarty smiled and reached up to touch your face, "see you, Y/N."

Moriarty turned to leave without another word. 

You listened to his footsteps as he descended the stairs, holding your breath and only releasing it when you heard the door close.

You jumped up and ran to the window, watching as Moriarty disappeared onto the street below.

Sherlock came over to you and you wrapped your arms around his neck, holding his body as close as humanly possible to your own.

The door below opened again and you jumped apart slightly, your arms still around Sherlock’s neck.

You sighed in relief when you saw it was only John, “Everything alright?”

**

It had been about two months now, since Moriarty walked free. You were working longer hours and spending more time with Mycroft since.

Currently, you were sitting in a room with him, sipping on a glass of water.

The door opened and John stepped in, questioning about “What the hell just happened.”

Mycroft poured himself a glass of wine, “Tradition John, our traditions define us.”

“So total silence is traditional, is it? You can’t even say “pass the sugar?””

“Three quarters of the diplomatic service and half of the Government front bench all sharing one tea trolley? It’s for the best, believe me. We don’t want a repeat of 1972. But, we can talk in here.”

“Hang on, if this is a gentleman’s club, how come you’re here Y/N?”

“I’m the exception John… besides, there’s a back exit. I snuck in.”

Mycroft handed John the file you had been looking over not minutes before. You listened as he explained about all of the assassins that had recently moved into the spaces around your apartment.

John was quick to guess Moriarty, you thought it would take him longer.

You watched as they bickered, John mocking Mycroft for his rivalry with Sherlock.

John got up to leave, “Finished.”

“We both know what’s coming John. Moriarty is obsessed, he’s sworn to destroy his only rival.”

John turned around, “So you want me to watch out for your brother because he won’t accept your help.”

“If it’s not too much trouble,” Mycroft responded.

John turned to you, “And you then?”

You sighed, “He won’t listen to me, John. I could warn him until my throat runs dry, but he’ll never listen. You have to do it.”

Without another word, John left you and Mycroft alone in the lounge.

You stepped away from where you were perched against the wall and moved to stand in front of Mycroft, “Moriarty said something about a fall.”

Mycroft looked up at you, silently asking you to continue.

“I don’t know what he meant. Everything he said was one large riddle. It didn’t make any sense,” you took a deep breath, “I’m gonna head home, I need to think.”

Mycroft was resting his face on his hand, he nodded slowly, but didn’t make eye contact. By the look in his eyes you could tell he had retreated into his own mind, his version of a mind palace.

**

Sitting on the couch, you tried to remember everything that Moriarty had said to Sherlock that day, but you couldn’t. Even if you could, it didn’t make sense. None of it was characteristic… it was _different_.

“…They have to keep me alive.”

You jumped at the sound of Sherlock and John entering the room.

“I’ve got something that all of them want. But if one of them approaches me…”

Sherlock sat down at his computer, John standing behind him, “The others kill them before they can get it.”

“All of the attention is focused on me. There’s a surveillance web closing in on us right now.”

You jumped off the couch to see what Sherlock was seeing.

John didn’t seem to get the importance, “So, what have you got that’s so important?”

“We need to ask about the dusting…. Mrs. Hudson!” Sherlock called.

A few moments later, Mrs. Hudson came up the stairs, “Yes dear?”

“Precise details. In the last week, what’s been cleaned?”

“Well, Tuesday I did your lino. I…”

“No, in here. This room. This is where we’ll find it. Any break in the dust line. You can put back anything but dust. Dust is eloquent."

“What’s he on about?” Mrs. Hudson whispered to you and John.

“I don’t know,” John responded.

“Cameras. We’re being watched.”

“What? Cameras? Here? I’m in my nightie.”

The doorbell rang and Mrs. Hudson went to answer it.

You watched as Sherlock examined the bookshelf and pulled on forward. You saw a small black scope and stepped forward as Sherlock pulled it from its spot.

“No, Inspector,” Sherlock said.

You turned and saw Lestrade coming through the door with John, “What?”

“The answer is no.”

“But you haven’t heard the question,” Lestrade argued.

“You want to take me to the station. Just saving you the trouble of asking.”

“Sherlock…”

“The scream?”

Lestrade sighed, “Yeah.”

Stepping forward, “Who was it? Donovan? I bet it was Donovan. Am I somehow responsible for the kidnapping? Ah Moriarty is smart. He planted that doubt in her head. That little nagging sensation you’re gonna have to be strong to resist. You can’t kill an idea, can you? Not once it’s made a home,” Sherlock tapped Lestrade on the forehead, “there.”

Lestrade took a deep breath, “Will you come?”

Sherlock moved to his computer and you followed, “One photograph, that’s his next move. Moriarty’s game. First the scream, then a photograph of me being taken in for questioning. He wants to destroy me, inch by inch. It is a game Lestrade, and not one I’m willing to play. Give my regards to Sergeant Donovan.”

Lestrade turned to leave and John watched as he and Donovan got into the car.

“He’ll be deciding.”

“Deciding?” John asked.

You spoke up, “Whether or not to come back with a warrant to arrest him.”

“You think?”

Sherlock spoke from beside you, “Standard procedure.”

“Should have gone with him. People will think-”

“I don’t care what people think,” Sherlock spat.

“You’d care if they thought you were stupid or wrong.”

“No, that would just make them stupid or wrong.”

“Sherlock, I don’t want the world believing you’re….”

You looked up at John, unsure of what he was going to say next.

“That I am what?” Sherlock asked.

“A fraud.”

Sherlock sat back in the chair and you leaned against him, “You’re worried they’re right.”

“What?”

“You’re worried they’re right about me.”

“No.”

“That’s why you’re so upset, you can’t even entertain the possibility that they might be right, you’re afraid that you’ve been taken in as well.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Moriarty is playing with your mind, too. Can’t you see what’s going on?” Sherlock screamed.

John stared at Sherlock before looking to you then back out the window, “No, I know you’re for real.”

“A hundred percent?”

“Well, nobody could fake being such an annoying dick all the time.”

You could hear sirens in the distance, “Sherlock, we both know this is Moriarty. We’re gonna figure this out.”

Sherlock got up to sit in his chair, realizing he couldn’t find out anything more from the computer.

John’s phone rang and he answered immediately. When he hung up, he explained that Lestrade was coming back to arrest Sherlock.

You took a deep breath and took a seat on the arm of his chair.

Mrs. Hudson came in then with a manila envelope in her hands.

Sherlock took it and opened it, pulling out a blackened cookie, “Burnt to a crisp,” he whispered.

The doorbell rang and John took off down the stairs with Mrs. Hudson. You could hear them yelling and John doing everything he could to stall them.

Lestrade came into the room, handcuffs in hand, “Sherlock Holmes, I’m arresting you on suspicion of abduction and kidnapping.”

“Lestrade what the hell are you doing?” you yelled.

“It’s alright, Y/N,” Sherlock said as calmly as possible.

“No it isn’t!”

John agreed, “No, this is ridiculous.”

Lestrade ignored you both, “Get him downstairs, now.”

You quick threw your arms around Sherlock’s neck and whispered, “we’ll figure this out, I promise.”

The officers pulled you off of him and led him down the stairs.

John addressed Lestrade, “you know you don’t have to-”

“Don’t try to interfere or I shall arrest you too.”

Donovan stepped forward, a smug look on her face. John turned to her, “You done?”

“Oh, I said it. First time we met.”

“Don’t bother.”

“Solving crimes won’t be enough. One day, he’ll cross a line. Now ask yourself, what sort of man would kidnap those kids just so he can impress us all by finding them?”

You were shaking with anger, “Donovan get out of my house or so help me-”

“Donovan?” A man’s voice called, “That’s our man?

She nodded, “Uh, yes, sir.”

“Looked a bit of a weirdo, if you ask me.”

“Good thing no one did,” you bit.

The man turned to you, “Excuse me?”

“I said no one asked you.”

He turned to John who had taken a step forward, “What’re you lookin’ at?”

John must’ve learned from the last time Donovan was in your apartment because he took a step back before swinging full force at the man’s face. There was a sickening crunch and you coughed to hide your laugh.

Donovan shot forward and slapped cuffs on John, guiding him outside.

The man pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and held it to his gushing nose.

“Get out of my house,” you said firmly.

He eyed you, deciding whether or not he misheard you. By the look on your face he realized he hadn’t and he left without another word.

You stood at the window and watched as John was thrown against the car next to Sherlock. You were trying to think of how to get them out of this, but as you were, you heard a gunshot. You looked down hoping it wasn’t aimed at Sherlock or John, and saw Sherlock with the gun.

You breathed a sigh of relief knowing that meant they’d be running.

Sherlock was smart, you knew he had a plan in mind, somewhere they’d go. You couldn’t think though, there was too much going on. You sat down and texted Mycroft, wanting some kind of help.

You were startled out of your conversation when your phone rang with an unknown number, “Hello?”

“ _Y/N, it’s me. I’m leaving Mycroft’s office. He told me you were speaking with him.”_

“John, what’s wrong?”

“ _He told me it’s his fault, Mycroft. He told Moriarty about Sherlock. This is all his fault.”_

“John, where are you?”

“ _I’m heading to Bart’s. Meet me there.”_

“Where’s Sherlock?”

“ _I’m not entirely sure. He went off on his own. I think he’ll go there though.”_

“Okay, be careful,” you said before you hung up.

Within the next ten minutes you were walking down the sidewalk to enter Bart’s when you saw John.

You hugged him and followed him into the building.

You entered the lab behind John to see Sherlock sitting on the floor playing wall ball against one of the cabinets. You walked over to where he was and jumped up on the counter beside him.

John stood next to you saying, “Got your message.”

Sherlock continued bouncing the ball, “The computer code is key to this. If we find it, we can use it, beat Moriarty at his own game.”

You reached down and ran your fingers through Sherlock’s hair, “What do you mean use it?”

“He’s used it to create a false identity. So we can use it to break into the records and destroy Richard Brook.”

John caught on, “And bring back Jim Moriarty again.”

Standing up, Sherlock explained, “Somewhere in 221B, somewhere, on the day of the verdict, he left it hidden.”

“Uh-huh…. What did he touch?” John questioned.

“An apple, nothing else.”

You spoke up from beside them, “And me, but he just touched my face. Not really sure how he could have done anything with that.”

They both sighed and Sherlock began drumming his fingers on the table.

“Did he write anything down?”

“No.”

Frustrated, John walked away, and you noticed Sherlock tapping on the table. It looked awfully familiar. Sherlock stepped around you, making his way to sit down at one of the lab tables.

You followed, resuming your position sitting on top of the desk. John was a few seats down playing with his fingers in silence. Eventually, he got so bored that he put his head down and drifted off to sleep.

“What are we gonna do Sherlock?”

He looked up at you and searched your face, “I don’t know.”

You sighed, “Can’t we ask Mycroft for help? We can’t stay here forever. In case you forgot, you and John are fugitives, they’re bound to come looking for you here eventually.”

“Y/N there are more pressing matters at hand.”

He had the ball in his hand still and was rolling it back and forth, doing the same pattern with his fingers as he was minutes before.

“Sherlock, I’m just scared, okay? Look at what Moriarty’s done so far, he’s not going to stop. I don’t think I can handle seeing you get hurt,” you grabbed his hand to hold in yours. You traced along his knuckles, taking in the feel of his skin.

John’s phone rang then and he answered sleepily, “Yeah, speaking... What? What happened? Is she okay?” John was out of his chair now and he was pacing, “Oh, my god. Right, yes, I’m coming.”

He walked over to you and Sherlock as he hung up the phone.

Sherlock voiced his concern, “What is it?”

“Paramedics. Mrs. Hudson’s been shot.”

You jumped off the desk, “What? How?”

“Well, probably one of the killers Sherlock managed to attract. Jesus. Jesus! She’s dying, let’s go.”

You moved to follow John but Sherlock spoke from behind you, “You go, I’m busy.”

“Busy?”

“Thinking, I need to think.”

“You need to…. Doesn’t she mean anything to you? You once half killed a man because he laid a finger on her.”

Sherlock shrugged, “She’s my landlady.” _Something’s not right, Sherlock wouldn’t say that, not now._

“She’s dying, you machine. Sod this, sod this. You stay here if you want, on your own.”

“Alone is what I have, alone protects me.” You felt like Sherlock slapped you.

“No, friends protect people.”

John grabbed his jacket and left the lab. You looked back at Sherlock who looked anxious.

You walked over to him, grabbing his face and kissing him with everything you had.

When you pulled back you wrapped your arms around him and hugged him, memorizing his scent. He put his arms around you too and just held you there for a second; you felt him press his lips to your hair.

You knew that you needed to catch up to John to go check on Mrs. Hudson but part of you was telling you to stay with Sherlock.

You sighed and moved to kiss him again.

Whispering against his lips you said, “If you were to make one promise in your life, I need it to be now. I need you to promise me that you’ll be careful, Sherlock Holmes.”

He put his hand on your face and pressed his lips to yours. You started backing away and grabbed his hand, not wanting to lose the contact.

When you got to the door you turned back to him, “I’ll see you soon, Sherlock.”

**

You’d gotten back to the apartment to see Mrs. Hudson completely fine. You didn’t listen to what she had to say before rushing back out and calling a cab. As you got in, John was right behind you.

“I feel so stupid, John. Part of me knew something was wrong; the way he was acting was off.”

“You don’t think he planned that, do you? Setting it up so that we would go to check on her leaving him alone?”

“I don’t know if it was just him and that’s what’s really scaring me.”

John reached across the seat as you yelled for the driver to hurry up.

The drive was filled with anxiety and pain; you couldn’t help but think the worst. You were just hoping with everything you had that Sherlock was smarter than Moriarty.

Minutes later, the cab let the two of you out across the street from Bart’s as John’s phone rang.

“Hello?” You were both running towards the hospital, “Hey, Sherlock, you okay?”

You grabbed John’s arm to slow him down, “John, put it on speaker!”

He pulled the phone away from his ear and pressed the speaker button and you heard Sherlock say, “turn around and walk back the way you came.”

You spun around thinking you might see him. How did he know where you are?

John argued, “No, we’re coming in.”

Sherlock yelled, “Just do as I ask! Please.”  
He sounded so broken.

“Where?”

You were walking backwards watching John’s face and stopped when you were told, “Stop there.”

That’s when you saw him, “John,” you breathed, your voice barely audible.

You grabbed onto John’s arm as he questioned, “Sherlock?”

“Okay, look up, I’m on the rooftop.” His voice sounded stronger but you could still hear the pain in his voice.

When John looked and saw Sherlock on the roof he breathed out, “Oh, god.”

“I…. I…. I can’t come down, so we’ll, we’ll just have to do it like this.”

“No,” you whispered.

John looked to you then looked back up at Sherlock, “What’s going on?”

“An apology… It’s all true.”

“What?”

“Everything they said about me. I invented Moriarty.”

You kept shaking your head no and you were pacing now. You were so scared of what was going to happen in the next thirty seconds that you couldn’t think straight. You didn’t think John had understood because his voice was still calm when you felt like you were breaking.

“Why are you saying this?”

“I’m a fake,” Sherlock’s voice broke as he said it.

“Sherlock.”

He was crying now, “The newspapers were right all along. I want you to tell Lestrade. I want you to tell Mrs. Hudson, and Molly. In fact, tell anyone who will listen to you, that I created Moriarty for my own purposes.”

“Sherlock stop it. None of that is true,” you cried, your eyes locked on him.

John stayed calm and focused, trying to reason with him, “Okay, shut up, Sherlock, shut up. The first time we met. The first time we met, you knew all about my sister. Right?”

“Nobody could be that clever.”

“You could.”

Sherlock let out a dry laugh and you couldn’t take it, “Sherlock you are the cleverest man on the face of the Earth. There isn’t anything that could get past you because you’re a genius.”

There was a silence as you stood there with tears streaming down your face, crying more as you thought about Sherlock doing the same thing.

“No John, I researched you. Before we met, I discovered everything that I could to impress you. It’s a trick, just a magic trick.”

“No, alright, stop it now,” John started to walk again but Sherlock stopped him, “No, stay exactly where you are. Don’t move.”

John put his hands up in surrender, “Alright.”

“Keep your eyes fixed on me. Please, will you do this for me?”

“Do what?”

“This phone call, it’s, uhm… it’s my note. It’s what people do, don’t they? Leave a note?”

“Leave a note when?” _Oh, John._

You couldn’t take it anymore, “Sherlock Holmes, you listen to me. Come down here now, please. We know this was all Moriarty, we can fix it. I don’t know what I would do without you. My life has gotten so much brighter since you’ve been in it and I can’t imagine it without you,” you took a deep breath trying to keep your voice as strong as possible, despite the fact your chest was aching and tears were streaming down your face, “I love you. You hear me?! I love you, Sherlock!”

That was the first time you’ve said it despite the fact you’d known for a while. There was silence amongst you as everyone took in what you’d just said.

You heard Sherlock inhale, “Goodbye, Y/N, John.”

“No, don’t.” John muttered.

The phone was still pressed to Sherlock’s ear so you pleaded, “Sherlock please, don’t. Don’t leave us, don’t leave me, please.”

You saw him throw the phone to his side before he extended his arms to his sides.

“Sherlock!” you and John screamed together, as loud as you could.

Before you knew it you were watching the man you loved free fall off the side of a building. It was as though time had slowed, and you watched in slow motion as his body struggled to fight against gravity. Time stopped when you heard him hit the ground.

John rushed forward, in shock himself, but you couldn’t move. It felt as though you had lead weights holding you in place. Only when John was knocked to the ground by a passing bicyclist did you move, “John,” you whispered as you stumbled across to him.

Helping him up, you looked at the crowd of people gathering around the spot Sherlock would have hit. You could see blood splatter and you immediately felt sick.

John rushed passed you repeating Sherlock’s name as he made his way to his body. Your movements were slow, afraid to see for yourself. When the paramedics picked up his body you lost control of yourself, dropping to the ground and emptying your stomach.

_Why did it have to come to this?_

Sherlock’s body in free fall was replaying like a movie in your head. You couldn’t feel anything anymore because the pain was so strong it made you numb.

It wasn’t until John picked you up did the full gravity of the situation hit you: you and John would be going back to 221B Baker Street alone.

**

When the day of the funeral arrived you were tired. You were tired of crying, tired of the silence from John, and all of the missed calls and unread texts from Mycroft. You were just tired of everything and you couldn’t seem to fight the sinking feeling that had been pulling you under since it all happened.

In the cab over to the plot site, all you could do was look out the window, unseeing, as tears streamed silently down your face. You thought about the morning after Sherlock had died.

 _You were laying on the couch wrapped in his house coat, your face sticky and numb with unshed tears_.

_John hadn’t said anything to you, but he was pacing, running over everything. You watched him, aware of his frustration._

_“You knew,” John breathed._

_You hadn’t understood._

_John ran his fingers through his hair in frustration, “You knew what Moriarty was capable of. If Mycroft knew, you knew. You let Mycroft tell him all about Sher-,” John took a deep breath, “you let him tell that monster all about him. You could’ve stopped it. It’s your fault, Y/N.”_

_In that moment you felt like your heart had exploded. John was right, you could have stopped it, but you didn’t. And now Sherlock was dead because of you_.

Now, you were kneeling in front of the headstone, uncaring of the loose dirt that was covering your knees and the hem of your dress. You could hear Mrs. Hudson complain about all of the things that needed to be done with his things, but you weren’t listening to her words. You were picturing Sherlock and all of the times he genuinely laughed.

That was something you never wanted to forget.

Mrs. Hudson walked back to the cab, crying on the way.

You heard John call your name, probably wanting privacy, but you didn’t respond.

So, he cleared his throat and spoke anyway, “Uhm… mmm, right, you… you told me once… that you weren’t a hero. Uhm… there were times I didn’t even think you were human, but let me tell you this, you were the best man and the most human, human being that I’ve ever known and no one will ever convince me that you told me a lie, okay? So… there.”

John moved up to stand beside you and put his hand on the top of the stone, “I was… I was so alone. And I owe you so much.”

Your chest constricted as you listened to John speak.

He turned to leave but stopped again, “Oh, please, there’s just one more thing, right? One more thing. One more miracle, Sherlock, for us. Don’t be… dead. Would you, just for me, just stop it? Stop this.”

You could see John in the reflection of the onyx headstone, his head in his hands as he cried. You would have gotten up to comfort him, wanting to be strong for him, but you saw him compose himself before you could. He stood tall then nodded, turning on his heels and walking away, a final soldier salute.

When you were alone, you let out a choked sob, “I’m wearing the dress I wore on our first date, do you remember? The one from when we went with John and his date Sarah to that Chinese circus. You later told me you liked seeing me in this, that I looked beautiful. Do you know what that meant to me? Sherlock Holmes,” you took a deep breath, trying to overcome the impending hyperventilating, “calling me of all people, beautiful.” Another shuddering breath, “I am so sorry that you had to go through all of this, I should have been able to help, I should have stopped it. Maybe then you wouldn’t have broken your promise to me,” you whispered the last part.

You stood up, still shaking and trying to catch your breath as you brushed off your knees, “Sherlock, I wasn’t lying when I told you I don’t know what I’ll do without you, I don’t know where to go from here. I’m afraid, and I regret so much,” you laughed quietly to yourself, picturing Sherlock misunderstanding you, “I don’t regret us, I regret not telling you that I love you sooner. You were,” you shook your head, correcting yourself, “ _are_ the perfect man Sherlock Holmes, and you deserved to be loved. I wish I had gotten the chance to show you just how much I love you.”

You let the pain wash over you, sobs racking your body. You looked up to the sky and blinked away some of the tears as you reached out to touch the engraved letters of his name, “Sherlock, please, come back to me.”

After what felt like an eternity passed, you leaned forward and pressed a kiss to the top of the stone, whispering, “I love you, Sherlock Holmes,” before turning and heading back to the cab. 


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter. Pumped this out on my phone, so it's probably got some weird mistakes.
> 
> Thanks for hanging with me and for motivating me to keep this going :)

You were sitting in the bathroom, vaguely aware of John yelling down the hall about how Mrs. Hudson wanted to get rid of most of Sherlock’s things.

You couldn’t focus on him though, all you could focus on was the white device in your hand.

Sighing, you got up and made your way into the living room. John was still rambling, nonetheless you called out to him.

He hadn’t heard you, so you tried again, “John.”

He turned to look at you, still going on about the mess. When he saw your state and what you were holding, the words got caught in his throat, “is that…?”

You simply nodded, unable to form any words yourself.

John took a step closer to you and lifted your hand so he could get a better look, the tiny plus sign radiating like a spot light in his eyes.

“Y/N, this is amazing,” he whispered as he wrapped his arms around you.

You wanted to be happy, but all you could do was cry.

**

A few weeks had gone by and you were sitting in the lobby of the doctor’s office. You were tired, but not from lack of sleep, you were just exhausted.

John was sitting beside you, impatiently shaking his knee. Normally, that wouldn’t have bothered you, but today it was possibly the most annoying thing in your life.

“John,” you warned.

He turned to look at you, still shaking his knee, “yeah?”

“Stop it.”

“Stop what?” Confusion lacing his tone.

You were about to yell at him but were interrupted by a nurse calling your name, “Miss Y/L/N?”

You stood up and smiled, grabbing John’s hand and leading him with you through the door the nurse stood at.

She led you to a room and took your vital signs, “This must be an exciting time for you two. Is it your first?”

You released John’s hand, “Oh, no, we aren’t together. The father he’s,” you stopped, holding back tears.

You were about to continue, but John finished for you, “He’s no longer with us. We’re best friends so I’m here for support.”

The nurse nodded in understanding but didn’t say anything more. Once she finished loading your information into the system, she left, announcing the doctor would be with you shortly.

When you were alone, you threw your arm over your eyes sighing, “Why are we here, John?”

“Because we need to check on the baby, make sure everything is alright, that it’s healthy.”

“How would they know? It’s too early to tell anything. We should just go,” you made to sit up, but there was a knock at the door.

The doctor stepped through and introduced herself before asking, “is everything alright? Are you comfortable?”

“Yeah, I’m fine, I was just getting up. Since it’s too early to see anything, I didn’t want to be laying back anymore.”

The doctor smiled, "it’s actually not too early to see. You’re about eleven weeks along. Sometimes, we can see the fetus as early as six weeks. Now, if you’d relax and lift your shirt up to show your belly, I’ll prepare my wand and we can see your baby together.”

You said nothing, just did as you were told.

You stared straight ahead, uninterested in what the doctor was doing. When she pressed the wand to your stomach, you looked to the screen.

You watched as the image changed with each movement, settling on a small bean-like shape.

For a moment, you’d forgotten almost everything the past few months. Overcome with happiness, you looked to your left, excepting to see Sherlock and his intrigued expression as he watched the screen with your baby.

Seeing John beside you, you were shot back into reality, pain washing over you. Trying not to cry, you took a deep breath and stared at the ceiling.

You tuned out everything else that happened after that.

**

The first time someone noticed something was wrong, it was early.

“Y/N, you need to eat. You heard what the doctor said. If the baby doesn’t get the nutrients it needs, it’ll weaken and could cause complications. If you’re not going to eat for yourself, please think of the baby.”

You heard what John was saying, but it was almost as if it went in one ear and out the other. Nodding mindlessly, you took a bite of the banana that was in your hand.

Satisfied, John walked to his room, stopping to rub your back before exiting.

That was the last time you’d see him for almost 3 weeks.

**

Mycroft showed up randomly one day, strutting through the room with his umbrella in hand.

You were staring at the television, but not really watching it, your hand resting on the bump of your stomach.

He cleared his throat as he took in your form, it was obvious you weren’t doing well.

Your eyes slowly slid to his and you half smiled, “Hey Mycroft. It’s been a while.”

“Yes, it has, hasn’t it.”

You sat up, your hand instinctively remaining on your belly, “Yeah, I haven’t seen you since the day before Sherlock died. You weren’t even at the funeral. Too busy being a snake? Or you just don’t care that your baby brother is dead?" You thought about what you said for a moment before repeating, "Do you care, Mycroft?”

He didn’t answer you, he simply took in your words. He watched you, “it seems you are with child.”

You looked down at your belly, “Oh yeah, no shit. You would’ve known sooner had you checked in. But here you are, so, you’re gonna be an uncle.”

You could have sworn Mycroft smiled, but it was gone in an instant.

When he didn’t answer you, you stood up, “What are you doing here, Mycroft?”

“I thought we could go and get lunch.”

You didn’t have the energy to argue, so you nodded and followed Mycroft out the door, grabbing your jacket on the way.

The second time someone noticed something was wrong, you barely touched your lunch.

“You should eat something, my dear.”

“I’m not hungry. The only reason I agreed to come with you was because I didn’t want to argue.”

“When was the last time you ate something?”

“What do you want, Mycroft. I’m sure you didn’t come all this way after all this time to tell me to eat,” you glared.

“No, I didn’t. But seeing the state you’re in, maybe this should be my priority. After all, you’re needing to nourish two.”

“You think I don’t know that?” you snapped.

“I don’t doubt that you do, it’s just a reminder. The real reason I came to see you is because I wanted to know if you’d like to move in with me. I know your flat is a constant reminder of Sherlock, and well, with John moving on, I thought it best you do the same.”

“I have moved on. I’m fine.”

“Clearly.”

“I just need a little more time,” you whispered.

**

The third time someone noticed something was wrong, it was too late.

You had gotten yourself dressed and were planning to head to the grocery store. You were running low on snacks, and you knew you couldn’t last much longer without much to eat in the house.

Moving slowly, you took care not to jostle too much. You’d been having cramps all morning.

As you descended the stairs, there was an overwhelming sharp pain below your belly button and you could feel wet between your legs.

You were immediately dizzy and your vision started to fade out. Before you could think, your body went slack and you fell down the remainder of the steps.

Resting at the bottom, you tried to move, to push yourself up. You were laying face down and you were scared you were hurting the baby. But you couldn’t move.

You could hear running then Mrs. Hudson calling your name.

She rushed back the way she came and you were vaguely aware of her calling an ambulance.

You tried to remain conscious, too afraid to let yourself go under.

You heard Mrs. Hudson once again yelling, but this time you heard John’s name.

Several minutes passed and you were in and out of consciousness. You had managed to help Mrs. Hudson roll yourself onto your side, unable to roll completely over because of the pain.

Soon the paramedics came and you were aware of them lifting you onto the stretcher.

John came back then, frantically asking what had happened.

You couldn’t hear what anyone said, finding it harder to stay awake.

The last thing you remember was someone saying, “There’s so much blood.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry!


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another super short chapter, but I felt obligated to get this up as soon as possible because I felt bad about what I put y'all through :)
> 
>  
> 
> Also, it's 2:30am and I'm in the emergency room bored as heck, but too tired to edit. So sorry for mistakes

You were on the phone with Mycroft, sitting at a little café in Normandy. He had told you to lay low for a while, to relax, that he would call you if he were to need you for anything.

_“We’ve been reliably informed that there is going to be a terrorist attack in London, we don’t know when and we don’t know why, but we know it is going to happen.”_

You took a sip of your coffee, processing his words.

_“We need you. I need you to go back to Baker Street, you need to be there to prepare for what’s coming….”_

You zoned out, not hearing anything else that Mycroft was saying. You hadn’t been back there in months, and that was only to visit Mrs. Hudson. You’d tried to stay in the apartment, to keep everything clean and as it was, to keep the memories going.

But it’s been two years since Sherlock died and you were still numb.

_“Y/N, are you listening to me?”_

“Yeah… yeah I’m here. Sorry, but I can’t go back, I’m not ready yet, Mycroft.”

_“I understand, but you are one of my best agents and one of the few I can trust. I need you to do this… just, play the part.”_

“What do you mean by that?”

_“Good afternoon, Y/N. See you soon.”_

He hung up before you had a chance to respond. You grumbled to yourself before finishing your coffee and getting up to head back to your hotel to pack your things.

**

When you’d arrived back to 221B Baker Street, you took a deep breath in an effort to compose yourself.

Opening the door, Mrs. Hudson came around the corner to see who it was. When she saw you she clasped her hands together and smiled.

Putting your things down, you pulled her in for a hug, “How are you Mrs. Hudson?”

“Oh I’m wonderful dear, it’s so good to see you. Here, let me help you with those,” she said gesturing to your bags.

You thanked her and made your way to the stairs that led to the place you thought you’d never see again.

Stopping at the base of the steps, you thought about what had happened to you a little over a year ago; about the second life that was taken from you.

Sighing, you tried to compose yourself and made your way up the steps. The walk felt like it took an eternity, but you finally made it and set your bags down just out of the way.

Expecting everything to be covered in dust, you turned to Mrs. Hudson with a questioning look.

She set your remaining bags down and smiled, “John was here not two days ago, I cleaned up in here after that. It was so good to see him; I was worried something had happened to him. Have you talked to him since….” She trailed off, not finishing her sentence.

“No, I haven’t. I’m glad he’s okay. Did he say why he stopped by?”

“He just said he was ready to move on. You should have seen him; he’s got this mustache that ages him. Oh, and he told me he’s met someone, isn’t that wonderful? When I asked him why now, he told me he was gonna ask her to marry him.”

You smiled, “Yeah, that is. I wish I was here to see him. Don’t you think it’s a little soon though? He couldn’t have known her for that long?”

“Well, you know how love is.”

The sentence broke your heart, you did know, but you never got the chance to make it clear.

Sighing, you thanked Mrs. Hudson for the help with your things and waited for her to go before slowly making your way through the apartment putting your things in place. It wasn’t as hard as you’d thought it was going to be, seeing everything again.

Part of you was even glad that you were there because it allowed you to relive some of the memories that brought you so much happiness just a few years ago.

That night, you couldn’t sleep so you resorted to cuddling into the chair that was once Sherlock’s with a hot cup of tea and a couple of your favorite movies lined up to play.

Sometime around midnight, you heard a loud noise and then steps on the stairs. You’d thought nothing of it, Mrs. Hudson told you that John came back the other day to visit, maybe he forgot something, or maybe he got in an argument with his girlfriend and needed a place to stay the night.

So, you decided to stay where you were. You weren’t expecting who came through the door.

Sherlock stood before you, he looked so tired. You stared, tears forming in your eyes, “Sherlock?” you whispered.

You stood up and began to walk over to him, the gun from under the pillow hidden behind your back.

“Hello, Y/N.”

“You…. You died. I watched you die,” your words were broken and you weren’t sure they came out coherently.

“I’m alive. It’s really me.”

You stood just a foot away from him, examining him. He watched you wearily, almost as though he was afraid you would hit him, or worst case, use the gun he no doubt knew you were hiding behind your back.

You took a deep and shaky breath before stowing the gun in the waist band of your pants.

You rushed forward and jumped into his arms. Sherlock held onto you while you cried. Through your tears you whispered, “I missed you so much.”

He pulled your face to look at him, wiping away the tears, “I know. I’m so sorry, Y/N. I wouldn’t have done that if there was any other way.”

You kissed him with everything you had.

You stared at him, new tears falling down your face, “I thought I killed you Sherlock. John, he told me it was my fault, and he was right. I could have stopped all of this, I should have stopped Moriarty. It’s my fault. I don’t know why I let Mycroft call the shots. I knew what Moriarty was capable of. I should have stopped it. I’m so sorry.”

Sherlock studied you, unsure of what to say.

There were a few moments of silence before you whispered, “Have you seen John yet?”

Sherlock nodded, watching your face for any sign that you’d be upset he saw John before you.

Seeing no reaction, he thought that was the end of it. Instead, you continued, “Did he tell you anything about me?”

He sighed, “Just the hell I put you through. Said it changed you.”

You looked up at him, confused, “That’s all?”

Sherlock eyed you wearily before giving a short nod.

You took a deep breath, trying to calm yourself before telling him the truth. Staring up at the ceiling, you blinked away tears and pulled out of Sherlock’s hold, “There-,” your voice cracked so you tried again, “There was a baby.”

“A baby?”

Refusing to make eye contact, you nodded slowly, “I was pregnant Sherlock. I found out a little after you… died. I was scared and honestly, I wasn’t sure that I wanted it. I say it like it was just a thing, not our child. I was so depressed and barely able to take care of myself, I couldn’t be pregnant.”

You stopped, afraid to continue. You still refused to look at Sherlock, worried that he would hate you for what you were about to tell him.

You focused on the images in your head and continued, “John dragged me to my appointments, made sure I was eating, when he was around. It was so hard though, to care about myself enough to take care of everything. But it all reminded me of you and that made it so much worse,” you took a deep breath, “I was a little over five months along, I was getting used to the bump, I would even talk to the baby sometimes. I was getting comfortable with the idea of being a mom, I even started to focus on taking care of myself. But then… I killed our baby Sherlock. I didn’t take care of it and it suffered and I miscarried. I killed him!”

Sherlock fought against your struggles and managed to wrap his arms around you. He held you for almost five minutes before pressing his lips to your forehead and murmuring, “I’m so sorry I left you.”

You tried to push out of his grasp, “You should be yelling at me! Telling me you hate me! You’d be a dad now if it weren’t for me!”

“And you wouldn’t have gone through any of the things you did if it weren’t for me.”

You searched his eyes, looking for any hint that he could be lying to you. Finding none, you let your body relax against his, taking in the feeling of his form against yours.

When the two of you pulled away, you went into the kitchen to get him a cup of tea, but you didn’t take your eyes off of him; you were afraid he might disappear.

On the sofa, you were laying with your head on Sherlock’s lap with him carding his fingers through your hair. You were listening to him telling you some of what happened that day with Moriarty and what he’s been through the past two years.

“Y/N?”

You looked up at him, searching his eyes. He pushed your hair from your face before continuing, “I believe there is something I didn’t get to say to you before.”

You didn’t know what he was talking about, “what?”

“I love you too.”

You started to cry again. You knew you wouldn’t be able to forget what happened the last two years, nor could you change it, but you thought that maybe it would be better from here on out.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will get back into the swing of things and follow the episodes again :)


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (posts boring chapter two months after the last)
> 
>  
> 
> Is anyone even still reading this?
> 
> If you are, thank you, I love you.

 You were sitting on the couch, staring off into space, vaguely aware that Mycroft was in the room speaking to Sherlock.

The two men were sitting across from each other, their postures screaming dominance.

The chess board between them had few pieces on it, and it was clear that Sherlock was winning.

Had Mycroft not been so stubborn, he might have been winning. Instead, he was intent on staring Sherlock in the eyes as they played. The smile on Sherlock’s face caused you to smile.

You were pulled from your thoughts when Mycroft spoke again, “All very interesting Sherlock, but the terror alert has been raised to critical.”

You watched as Sherlock made another move, “Boring. Your move.”

Mycroft didn’t take his eyes off his brother, “We have solid information. An attack is coming.”

Mycroft went to make his move as Sherlock taunted, “Solid information, a secret terrorist organization is planning an attack. That’s all secret terrorist organizations do. It’s their version of golf.”

Mycroft became very serious then, “An agent gave his life to tell us that.”

“Hmm, well perhaps he shouldn’t’ve done it. He was just trying to show off.”

The tension between the two men was growing and you were enjoying it. You missed their interactions whole-heartedly.

As the boys continued their game of chess, you went to make some tea for everyone.

When you came back, they had a game of operation going.

Sherlock was in the middle of looking off into the distance, a troubled look on his face, “I used to think I was an idiot.”

Mycroft smiled, “Both of us thought you were an idiot, Sherlock. We had nothing else to go on, ‘til we met other children.”

“Oh yes, that was a mistake.”

You set a cup of tea in front of each man before perching beside Sherlock.

Mycroft eyed you as he responded, “Ghastly. What were they thinking of?”

“Probably something about trying to make friends.”

“Oh yes, friends,” Mycroft drew out sarcastically. He was watching you and you took a little of offense to it. He shifted his attention back to Sherlock as he continued, “Of course you go in for that sort of thing now.”

“You don’t, ever?” Sherlock questioned.

“If you seem slow to me, Sherlock, can you imagine what real people are like? I’m living in a world of goldfish.”

“Hey!” you cried, taking full offense.

Sherlock eyed you momentarily then went on to interrogate his older brother, “Yes, but I’ve been away for two years.”

“So?”

“Oh, I don’t know, I thought perhaps you might’ve had yourself a – goldfish.”

Mycroft looked appalled at the idea, “Change the subject, now.” He got up and stood up by the fire place.

“You know, I just love when the two of you talk like this. It makes me feel like one of the guys,” you mocked.

Sherlock reached up and rubbed your arm affectionately, “It’s not you darling, you’re bearable.”

“Just bearable?”

Mycroft stepped towards you, “That’s not an insult, Y/N. You should be proud of that. I can’t remain in the room for long periods of time with anyone other than you and Sherlock. It’s a great thing.”

You gave him a skeptical look, “Oh, absolutely, _great,”_ you mocked.

Sherlock chose then to decide to want to make deductions, no doubt a means to outshine Mycroft.

When they finished, Mycroft made to leave, “Are you coming, Y/N?”

“I will, but not this second. I’ll follow in a bit.”

Once Mycroft was gone, you turned to Sherlock, “I know you miss John, Sherlock, but you can’t just stay here all day.”

He turned to look at you, “Y/N, I’ve been gone for two years. Is it such a bad thing that I want to spend to spend as much time as possible with you?”

You were shocked by his words, there was something about how sincere he sounded. You were at a loss for words momentarily before snapping back, “Nice try, but I’m just a _goldfish._ I know you can’t wait to get rid of me. If not that, then at the very least you cannot wait to get back into some cases.”

He smiled, “Alright, you’ve got me. But I really do want to spend time with you, but Y/N, I need a case. I’m going insane just sitting here.”

You moved over to him and pressed your lips to his, “It’s fine Sherlock, go.”

“You aren’t coming with me?”

“I can’t, I need to get back into the swing of things. I can’t just stay here. I need to get to work. Maybe we could do something for dinner though?”

He nodded, “Of course.”

**

After a long day at work, you were glad to be getting home. When you got to the top of the stairs, you saw Sherlock sitting at the table with two takeout bags.

You shot him a questioning look and he smiled, “Fish n’ chips, from that shop down the street. The one who always gives me extra portions.”

You smiled, “The one where you helped with the shelves?”

“That’s the one.”

“I thought we would go out though?”

“I figured after a long day of work, we could just eat here then spend the rest of the night in the bedroom.”

You blushed, “Wow, you’ve gotten blunt.”

He smirked, “Yes, well-” he stopped when he heard talking downstairs.

You listened, hearing a woman’s voice with Mrs. Hudson.

Sherlock shot out of his seat, “Mary? What’s wrong?”

She seemed taken aback by your presence but continued nonetheless, “someone sent me this.” She pulled out her phone for Sherlock to see, “At first I thought it was just a bible thing, you know, spam, but it’s not. It’s a skip code.”

 _Skip code?_ You thought to yourself. _Who is she that she knows about skip codes?”_

“First word, then every third. “Save John Watson,” there was a pause and your heart dropped. Someone had John? Sherlock dropped his food and darted down the steps, “Now!”

“Where are we going?” The blonde questioned.

“St James The Less, it’s a church. Twenty minutes by car.”

“I’m coming with you!” you yelled as you ran down the steps behind them. The woman looked over her shoulder at you so you thought now was as good a time as any to introduce yourself, “I’m Y/N by the way!”

“Y/N! I’ve heard so much about you! I’m Mary, John’s fiancée!”

Sherlock didn’t give you time to react to that, he frantically searched the streets while addressing Mary, “Did you drive here?”

“Yes.”

 Sherlock was pacing muttering, “It’s too slow, it’s too slow.”

Mary ran out into the street with him, “Sherlock, what are we waiting for?”

“This,” he said as a motorcycle approached.

Sherlock was yelling frantically at the couple on the bike who kept refusing to cooperate.

You took initiative then, pulling your ID from under your shirt to show to them, “It’s an emergency, we need to confiscate this vehicle. I can assure you that you will be compensated for your cooperation.”

They hesitated but finally agreed, and Sherlock and Mary frantically mounted the bike.

You yelled to them, “Hurry! I’ll meet you there!”

You began to run down the street yelling over your shoulder to the couple, “Call yourselves a cab! Tell the driver Y/N said she’d cover it! They’ll find me!”

You continued to run, your heels echoing on the pavement. Turning down an alleyway, you stopped at a fire escape and sighed as you reached down to peel the shoes from your feet.

Knowing you’d need them later, you kept hold of them as you made your way up the escape and onto the roof. The last time you’d done this was with Sherlock and John the night you met him.

But that was years ago, and now, you were in better shape and had more training. Now, you glided flawlessly across the roofs, adrenaline knocking any pain your bare feet may have been inflicted with otherwise.

Keeping your breathing steady, you were able to run and jump without hesitation and you were at the church before you knew it.

As you descended the stairs, you could see a crowd of people and a mound of wood ready for the burning.

 _What the fuck? The Guy Fawkes Festival,_ you thought to yourself, _Why would John be here?_

As the wood was lit, you were hit with a sickening feeling. To your left you saw Sherlock and Mary arriving, dumping the bike.

You could hear a man’s voice scream, “Help” from within the pile followed by a little girl screaming.

Sherlock ran towards you, “Stand back!”

He ran towards the fire and began lifting bits of the wood, ignoring the fire all while calling John’s name.

You ran to his side to help, the wood sticking to your flesh as it merged. That didn’t stop you though, any second, John would be dead.

After what felt like hours, Sherlock managed to pull John’s body out from underneath, “John!” you all called.

You were slapping his face attempting to get him to come to, finally, he opened his eyes and coughed.

“Oh thank god,” you whispered. You sat back on your heels and Sherlock wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling him into you.

All the while, Mary leaned down and kissed all over John’s face muttering how she thought she’d lost him.

After John regained his composure, you noticed an ambulance had arrived and the paramedics were stalking towards you.

They lifted John onto a stretcher and led him to a truck, Mary close behind.

One of the paramedics came over to you and Sherlock, “are you two alright?”

“Yes, we’re fine, thank you.”

He give you a once over and deemed you were telling the truth, nodding and making his leave.

Sherlock stood up and reached for your hand to help you up, when you winced, he pulled back to examine you, “Darling are you alright?”

“I’m fine.”

Sherlock pulled you up to him, this time by your arms, before taking your hands in his, “You need to go to the hospital.”

You pulled your hands from his grasp, “I said I’m fine,” you practically growled.

“Y/N, your hands are severely burnt. That with the dirty wood they’re going to get infected. You need to.”

“Sherlock I’m not going! Okay? I’m fine.”

He looked taken aback by your outburst, but regained himself and nodded.

You watched as he took his phone out to call for a cab.

You felt horrible for yelling at him, he was just trying to help. But you weren’t ready to go back to the hospital. The last time you were there, you lost the one life you were utterly responsible for.

You couldn’t face that again, the fear and pain that now surrounded hospitals for you.

You longed to apologize to Sherlock, to explain, but after what you just went through, you knew it wasn’t the right time. And for all you knew, Sherlock never wanted to talk about the miscarriage again.

**

The next morning, you were sitting in John’s chair facing Sherlock, studying his calm features as he listened to his parents bicker.

There was something about the situation that was completely amusing to you, his parents in town wanting to spend time with their son, acting as clients the best way to do so.

They were the kindest, most down to earth people you’d ever met, and you couldn’t understand how they created Sherlock and Mycroft.

Their mother had taken an instant liking to you, raving about how beautiful you were and how happy she was the Sherlock had finally found someone.

She had asked you how long you’ve been together and when you told her, she was almost in tears.

“That’s absolutely wonderful! How is it we’ve never met you before?” followed by her addressing Sherlock, “Sherlock, a woman like this is a rare thing and if you don’t get your act together, she’s gonna get away.”

You yourself almost choked on your tea at her implication of marriage. I mean, sure, you thought about it. You loved Sherlock with every fiber of your being, and you wanted nothing more than to make your love known to the world. But, now just wasn’t the time. He’d just gotten back from the dead and you were in the process of regaining your trust in the foundation of your relationship.

 That conversation was over an hour ago and now, you were just listening to them talk.

You watched as Sherlock stormed towards them, stepping onto the table then onto the sofa to examine the wall above them.

Just then, the door swung open and John walked through.

“John.”

“Sorry, you’re busy.”

Sherlock got down and put his arms on his mother, guiding her up, “No, no, no, they were just leaving.”

“Oh, no, were we?” She questioned.

“Yes,” Sherlock drawled out.

“No, if you’ve got a case-” John tried.

“No, not a case, no, no, no. Yeah, go.”

You watched as Sherlock’s parents made their way to the door, “Yeah, well, we’re here ‘til Saturday, remember.”

Sherlock wouldn’t let them finish, “Yes, great, wonderful. Just get out.”

“Yes, well, give us a ring,” she turned to you, “That means you too dear.”

You nodded then the door was closed, or so you thought. You got up to see what was happening and saw Mrs. Holmes whispering to Sherlock, her gaze locking on yours several times, indicating she was talking to him about you.

Finally, the door was closed and Sherlock turned back to John, “Sorry about that.”

“No, it’s fine. Clients?”

“Just my parents.”

“Your parents?” John questioned, looking to you for confirmation.

You nodded, a huge smile gracing your features.

Sherlock snapped back into his professional mannerism, “in town for a few days.”

John was still in shock, “you parents?”

Sherlock ignored him and continued to rant, “Mycroft promised to take them to a matinee of Les Mis. Tried to talk me into doing it.”

“I told you Sherlock, we still can. I’ll go with you. I haven’t seen that show in years, and when I did, it was in America. It’s not too late to tell them,” you teased.

“Those were your parents?” John repeated for the tenth time.

“Yes.”

The next few seconds involved were light and airy, until John brought up Sherlock’s death stunt.

Although Sherlock was in a somber mood about it, you were still on John’s side. You did wonder about his parents at the time, but now it all made sense.

The mood changed once again as Sherlock began to talk about the terrorist organization and the connections to what had happened to John last night.

Within a few minutes, Sherlock had connected the strings to the cases.

Just then, your phone rang, a picture of Mycroft lighting the screen.

“What?”

_“Pleasure to speak to you too, Y/N.”_

“You know Mycroft, your parents just left. You promised you’d take them to a show, you better do it. They miss you and they just went to spend time with their sons.”

_“Oh for god’s sake Y/N, that’s not important right now. I need you here. We’ve got eyes on Moran.”_

“Yes, I know. Sherlock just figured that out. Like, thirteen seconds ago.”

“ _I need you here, you’re going to be keeping eyes on him.”_

“Mycroft, I’m going with Sherlock to find the missing train car, that’s a little more important. Put someone else on the job.”

You were about to hang up the phone when you heard Mycroft yell your name. Sherlock was at the computer on a video call about the train routes and John eyed you from over his shoulder, “What, Mycroft?”

_He sighed, “Okay, so to be completely honest with you. Sherlock set this up. Normally I would not go through with any of his plans, but I’m doing this to humor him. John is going to go with him and you are going to be with me, at a safe distance. Don’t question me, just listen. The whole situation is rather dire, and my baby brother wants to ensure that you are safe.”_

“Okay.”

You hung up the phone and watched as Sherlock was frantically getting his coat and scarf on, excited to get into another case.

You jumped up and ran over to him, pulling him into you, “Sherlock don’t do anything stupid. You still owe me the time you promised yesterday.”

Sherlock nodded, a sly smile on his lips as he leaned down to press his lips to yours, “Of course.”

You turned to John, “Keep him safe, John. I’ll see you both when you get back.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so I got so bored and tired with this so i ended it early. Obviously the episode ends with Sherlock stopping the bomb and all that fun stuff, then everyone talking about John's wedding and finally with Sherlock going out to meet the press.
> 
> So. How about this.  
> Smut to start the next chapter? I think we need it. I mean, Sherlock's got it on his mind


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sex before John's wedding, yay
> 
>  
> 
> Sorry it's been so long, here is a short chapter to hold you over a little longer :)

 “You know, you can’t blame him, John, he needed an adventure. Honestly, I think that he pulled that little stunt so that he could show you how much he cares.”

_“I don’t care the reason, Y/N, he made it seem like we were both going to die!”_

“Like I said, adventure. He’s just trying to get things back to the way they were before. You know, he still hasn’t brought up what happened with me. I don’t know if he’s mad at me about it or if he’s simply waiting for me to be comfortable enough to talk about it.”

John sighed, _“Y/N, it’s obviously a tough subject, maybe it’s best not to talk about it.”_

“Yeah, I guess.”

The sound of Sherlock’s violin pulled you from your thoughts and you focused on the new tune.

It was a beautiful sound and you paused a moment to listen.

_“Y/N?”_

You were brought back to your thoughts as you pulled the phone away from your ear to look at the time, “I’m sorry John, I should let you go. You’re getting married today. You shouldn’t be wasting this time on the phone with me. I’ll see you later.”

John sighed on the other end, _“Right, well, see you then, Y/N.”_

You got up and went to the living room to see Sherlock in his pajamas and robe swaying as the music played.

 _Wait, is he dancing?_ You thought to yourself. His eyes were closed as he continued to move his feet and hold his arms as though someone was there with him.

Smiling, you sat in Sherlock’s chair, pulling your feet up and hugging your knees.

Sherlock hadn’t reacted to your presence nor did he open his eyes. You thought about joining him in his dance, but you felt better just watching him.

Soon you heard footsteps coming down the hall, followed by the sight of Mrs. Hudson carrying a tray of tea.

“Shut up, Mrs. Hudson,” Sherlock stated as he continued to play.

“I haven’t said a word.”

He sighed, “You’re formulating a question and it’s physically painful watching you think,” he shot back.

“I thought it was you playing.”

Sherlock moved to turn off the speaker, agitation lacing his tone, “It _was_ me playing. I was composing.”

Mrs. Hudson sat down across from you, a smile on her face. She looked to you as she continued to address Sherlock, “you were dancing.”

“I was road-testing,” the remote hit the table and Sherlock leaned over to write down some notes on his paper.

“You what?”

Sherlock slammed the pencil down and turned to Mrs. Hudson, “Why are you here?”

Mrs. Hudson prepared a cup of tea for you and Sherlock, “I’m bringing you your morning tea. You’re not usually awake.”

Sherlock sat down on the arm beside you, his tone audibly calmer, “You bring me tea in the morning?”

“Where do you think it came from?” Mrs. Hudson let out a chuckle.

Sherlock turned to look at you, “I don’t know, I just thought that Y/N prepared it for me.”

You laughed, “Babe, I’m usually in bed longer than you, how would I have time to do it?”

Sherlock frowned, “Again, I don’t know. Maybe then I thought it just sort of happened.”

Mrs. Hudson held out a cup for the both of you, “your mother has a lot to answer for.”

“Mmm, I know. I have a list. Mycroft has a file.”

You put your hand up on Sherlock’s knee and began to rub it gently.

Mrs. Hudson watched with a huge smile on her face, “So, it’s the big day, then.”

Sherlock took a sip of his tea, “what big day?”

You slapped his knee gently, “The wedding, Sherlock.”

Mrs. Hudson joined in, “John and Mary are getting married.”

“Two people who currently live together are about to attend church, have a party, go on a short holiday, then carry on living together. What’s big about that?”

“It changes people, marriage.”

Sherlock shook his head, “Mmm, no, it doesn’t.”

“Well, you wouldn’t understand. It’s just you and Y/N, and when she’s gone, you’re always alone.”

You peaked over at Sherlock, interested in what he would say next. He barely made eye contact before taking another sip, “Your husband was executed for double murder, you’re hardly an advert for companionship.”

Mrs. Hudson didn’t back down, “Marriage changes you as a person in ways that you can’t imagine.”

“As does lethal injection,” Sherlock countered.

“My best friend, Margaret, she was my chief bridesmaid, we were going to be best friends forever, we always said that. But I hardly saw her after that.”

Sherlock ignored her and stood up, “Aren’t there usually biscuits?”

Mrs. Hudson shot you an apologetic look, “I’ve run out.”

“Have the shops?”

This time, Mrs. Hudson ignored him and continued on, “She cried the whole day, saying, “Oh, it’s the end of an era.””

“I’m sure the shop on the corner is open.”

At this rate, the conversation was taking a turn to see who could ignore each other more.

“She was probably right, really. I remember she left early. I mean, who leaves a wedding early? So sad.”

“Mmmm. Anyway, you’ve got things to do.”

Mrs. Hudson looked to you and sighed, “Mmmm, not really, I’ve got plenty of time.”

“Biscuits!” Sherlock yelled, causing you and Mrs. Hudson to jump.

She stood up and headed to the door, “I really am going to have a word with your mother. With your lack of manners, it’s a wonder how a wonderful girl like Y/N has stuck around with you for as long as she has. You should realize this conversation wasn’t for my health, you moron, it was to get it into your head that maybe you should marry her before it’s too late.” As Mrs. Hudson made her way to the stairs you could still hear her mumbling, “I’m going to go and give your mother a call right now, maybe she can talk some sense into you.”

Sherlock called after her, “You can if you like, she understands very little,” as he slammed the door.

Turning back into the room, Sherlock let out a deep sigh before turning to look at you.

He gave you a questioning look, as though he had forgotten you were in the room and was trying to determine whether or not you had heard his exchange with Mrs. Hudson.

You stood from the chair, walking passed him as you made your way into the bedroom, “We should really get ready for today.”

Sherlock turned to follow you, his arm reaching out to gently grab your own and pull you to his body.

He wrapped one hand around your waist as the other reached up to caress your cheek.

His gaze was intense, and you felt your knees weakening, “Sherlock,” you breathed.

He slowly brought his lips to your own as if he were making sure it was alright.

When you didn’t push him away, the kiss intensified and soon he was backing you up to the bed.

You moved so you were sitting in the middle of the bed, working your clothes off in between kisses. Sherlock took off his shirt and pulled off his pants before hovering above you and kissing you even harder.

He placed his left hand on your waist as he leaned on his right elbow and worked at your nipple with his long fingers.

Sherlock began to kiss down your mouth to your neck before stopping between your breasts and placing several open-mouthed kisses there.

“Y/N, I need you to understand, one of Mary’s bridesmaids, Janine, she works for Magnussen.”

“I know,” you breathed.

“In order to get to him, I need to use her. You understand that, right?”

His kisses stopped and you looked down at him, his intense gaze boring into you.

You nodded, throwing your head back onto the pillow, “I trust you, Sherlock.”

As you said it, Sherlock’s lips moved to your nipple and he worked it into his mouth. You arched your chest up to his mouth as his tongue swirled around your nipple, and let out a small gasp as he tugged lightly with his teeth.

Before you had more time to react, Sherlock was already moving down your body, his fingertips trailing lightly as he came to your knees and pulled them apart.

You watched as he adjusted himself, sliding his body down the bed so that his face was level with your core.

As he wrapped his arms around your legs, he spoke softly, “I would never do anything to hurt you.”

“I know,” you exhaled, your breath hitching as his tongue finally connected with your clit.

His tongue worked slowly at first, drawing lazy circles as he found a rhythm. Using his thumb to part your lips, Sherlock’s tongue went further, the pressure intensifying as you began to squirm under him.

You adjusted yourself so you could watch him as he worked, his beautiful curls bouncing slightly as he worked his tongue over you.

“Sherlock,” you breathed, “If you keep that up, I’m gonna come.”

He pressed harder and worked faster, his grip on your hips almost painful as he held you in place.

“Sherlock,” you tried again.

He ignored you, continuing to work to bring you over the edge.

You watched as he moved his head lower and shuddered as you felt his tongue enter you, his nose nudging your clit.

“Sherlock, please.”

His movements become quicker as he moved back up and bit ever so lightly at your clit, throwing you over.

You reached down and wound your fingers in his curls, holding his head in place as you rode his face through your orgasm.

When your grip loosened on his head, he nudged your thighs back apart and slowly made his way back up your body.

Sherlock went to wipe your juices from his swollen lips, but you swatted his hand away and pulled him down to kiss you.

When your lips met, you stuck your tongue out and licked the slick from his as the kiss intensified.

You could feel his dick twitch against you and you smiled.

Sherlock moved to adjust himself so he could enter you, but you stopped him, “We don’t have time. I want you behind me.”

Sherlock pressed his lips to yours before sliding off the bed and grabbing you by the ankles to pull you down to him. As gently as he could, he pulled you up into a standing position with him and slammed his lips to yours.

Before you had time to process any more, he turned you around and threw you onto the bed. Immediately, you were on all fours and backed to the edge as far as you could go, readying yourself for him.

Sherlock leaned down and his face connected with your core again, his saliva mixing with your juices to get you ready for his size.

You let out a gasp, your instinct to press back against his face as he worked you over again.

Before you came close to coming again, Sherlock’s mouth was gone, immediately replaced with his dick. In one movement Sherlock was inside of you, completely bottomed out.

The force of the movement caused you to go forward, your head now resting on the mattress as Sherlock held onto your hips, keeping them in the air.

You heard Sherlock inhale deeply followed by his dick twitching inside of you.

His grip on your hips tightened as he began to move, pulling out slowly before slamming into you with everything he had.

You couldn’t help the sounds you were making and you could have sworn that you saw stars with each pounding movement.

Your fists were clenched in the sheets, holding on as Sherlock fucked into you.

“You should know,” he started, his voice faltering with each thrust, “that I am going to have to act as though,” he grunted, “I like Janine.”

You took a deep breath, “Sherlock. I know. But, ah, I don’t want to talk about this right now.”

Another hard thrust, “then when?”

“Maybe after you finish.”

“Y/N-”

You pushed yourself up onto all fours and slammed your ass back to meet him with his thrusts, “I told you, I trust you. Now drop it and finish fucking me, Sherlock.”

He hadn’t said anything else, maybe it was because you hadn’t said anything like that before during sex and he didn’t like it, or maybe it was because he was trying to analyze the aggravation in your voice to determine the cause.

Either way, it only lasted a moment before Sherlock set another quick pace, his hips snapping to meet yours.

Within moments, Sherlock stilled, his fingers gripping your sides, holding you to him. You could feel the warmth as he came inside you, the intimacy of the moment dissolving any doubts you had of this "mission."

When Sherlock finished, he pulled out and stood back, offering you his hand.

You took it, standing and brushing the hair from your face.

He watched your movements, searching for any signs of anger or weariness. When there was none, he sighed, “We should get ready then.”

You laughed, “Yeah, we should. We both need a shower though, after that. May as well shower together. Then I’ll do my hair and makeup while you go over your speech.”

Sherlock nodded, “Right then,” before swinging your legs out from under you and carrying you to the shower.


End file.
